


Bruja

by Links



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Feminism, Gen, M/M, Murder Mystery, Witches, young adult
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-06-23
Packaged: 2019-10-30 22:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 34
Words: 66,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17837549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Links/pseuds/Links
Summary: What if you discover you've been cursed since birth?Molly doesn't believe it until she meets the Book and everything changes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there, 
> 
> It has been a long time. I'm still lurking (and reading) on Ao3 but I'm no longer writing fanfic. Instead, I'm trying to write an original work (with vague hints at Johnlock... I can't resist!) and I thought it might interest some people out there. It's a WIP and I'll do my best to post regular updates.  
> Tags may change so be sure to check them before reading.  
> Thank you in advance for your feedback.

 

**_PROLOGUE_ **

 

_One month and eleven days before the Blood Moon_

 

            The note found its way to Clara as she came out of the school. She slipped her hands inside her muff – temperature had dropped during the day due to the cold wind blowing from the Northern Straits. She suddenly felt the distinct shape of a pin fastening the paper to the soft fur. Her mouth went dry. As she came closer to the coupé already waiting for her, heart thudding against her ribs, she nearly missed Edgar’s usually jolly greeting:

            “Coming home, Miss Clara?”

            She gave him a weak smile before lowering her head, hoping her blush would go unnoticed by the guard standing next to the door and who helped her up with a bored look. Edgar clicked his tongue, nudging the two horses from their slumber into a slow trot. It was an old game between them, the driver – one of the many employed by her father – asking her where she wanted to go before driving her back home.

            As if she had any other choice.

            As if she could…

            A small but sharp pain bloomed behind her eyes while a soft voice – an echo of what she had heard this morning through her ear pods – whispered in her mind _Be calm. Forget any troubling matter. Smile. Yes, like that, child – that’s better._  

            Clara gritted her teeth as a large part of herself was swiftly lulled into the usual haze, fogging her perception. The sharp clatter of horses’ hooves on the cobblestones, the newsboys’ voice screaming the latest news, the occasional hails and exclamations exchanged between the coachmen, everything came to her muffled. As her sight became more and more focused on a single point – a loose red thread hanging from the other seat next to her, she would have to tell Edgar when she arrived home and why was she thinking of it right now since it really didn’t matter? – Clara preferred to close her eyes. She took a deep breath, summoning with great difficulty the memory of doctor Willis – kind, handsome “ _Call me James_ ” Willis – explaining to her in his calm voice, pronouncing each word carefully “Do not resist when you’re outside your home. That’s when Sparks are the strongest. If you attempt anything… It might be dangerous.”

She didn’t even feel the usual bumps and jolts of the carriage around her, as if her whole body was floating up high into the sky.

            If only.

_Be calm. It’s all right. Do not frown, child, you’ll get wrinkles that way and that’s so unpleasant, especially in a face as fresh as yours, you don’t want to turn ugly, do you?_

            “No,” Clara whispered, a tiny part of her mind hating itself for replying to this whisper, which was now crooning soft nothings in her ear.

_Be calm. It’s all right._

            It certainly wasn’t but there was nothing to it – she had to wait.

            Wait until she could get in her room and escape the Sparks’ power.

            Her room, where the Book was waiting for her.

            She smiled a little at that thought – everything was better within Its presence.

            Inside her muff, her fingers clutched the small pin.

             

As soon as the carriage crossed the threshold of the inner court, Clara let out a small sigh of relief. She could almost feel the haze to which she had been submitted during the coupe’s journey through Cohn Island creeping away little by little, its presence receding until she could believe she has got rid of it.

            She knew it was a mere illusion – the Book had told her so, among many other things – but it didn’t stop her from beaming at the driver as he opened the coupe’s door and held out his hand to help her getting down.

            “Thank you, Edgar.”

            “You’re welcome, Miss Clara.”

            The golden light from the glass dome was shining down on the luxuriant garden below, casting a deep shadow on Edgar’s face. During a brief, heart-stopping moment, it seemed to Clara that the cheerful driver had been replaced with a grim-looking stranger. Something on her features must have given her away, since Edgar frowned and asked in a concerned tone:

            “You’re all right, Miss Clara?”

            The strict education which had been drilled into her since she could walk came to her help – she straightened her back, pasting without any effort a polite smile on her lips.

            “Of course,” she replied before walking to the entrance.

            The Chancellor’s daughter could not afford to show any weakness.

 

She had barely stepped inside her home that a small army of black-and-white clad maids started fussing over her.

“You’re back early, Miss Clara!”

“Take off these shoes, dearie, we’ll fetch your slippers in no time…”

“Would you like a cup of tea? Madam has already taken hers, I’m afraid…”

            There was a familiar rhythm in this ballet and Clara let herself for a brief moment soak into the bone-deep comfort it offered. But the temptation of the note, the crisp paper continually brushing against her fingertips, was burning in her mind. Curiosity soon became compelling. She gently but firmly got away from the servant’s loving clutches. She wanted to be left alone, to be free to go upstairs and to finally read the note.

            “In fact, I’ve a small headache, so if you would be so kind as to take a cup of tea upstairs…”

            She was interrupted with a chorus of “Of course!” and “Immediately!”. Mother used to rebuke her for showing too much kindness to the servants. “They’re here to serve you, you don’t have to handle them with silk gloves!”

            Clara bit her lip, stifling a bittersweet smile. Mother didn’t talk to her much these days. In fact, she didn’t talk at all, a pale-faced ghost wandering in the rooms, letting the maids softly guide her through the motions of the day. She knew that among Cohn Island’s elite, whispers that the mind of the Chancellor’s wife was broken grew more and more every day, taking root in her Mother’s blatant absence from society’s life.   

            As she went upstairs, hand on the polished handrail, she shook her head minutely. She couldn’t do anything for her Mother, she mused, but it wasn’t the case for the others. From the maid hastening to make the tea in the kitchen to the Red District’s dancers and even – who knows? – her schoolmates… The promise was there, written on a small slip of paper. The promise of a better life – without the threat of the Sparks.

            She bit her lip, her step quickening.

            She had to know.

 

           Her fingers were trembling as she finally removed the muff. It was more difficult than expected to unfasten the pin without tearing the paper in two. She certainly admired the skill with which the stranger – certainly a servant working at school – has pinned the note inside. Her heart was beating fast, almost too fast, and she was feeling light-headed as she opened the paper.

       Not a single word has been written inside. Instead, Clara found a spot, in a red so dark it seemed black by the light of the single lamp on her bedside table. She stared at it, dumbfounded. What could it mean? She turned the slip of paper over, but there was nothing on the other side either.

           Ilse never said anything about…

             And then it struck her in the chest, almost a physical blow. She realized with a growing horror…

_I didn’t see Ilse downstairs._

           The memory, trapped under the surface of her mind, came back up with all the swiftness of a lightning bolt.

_If we are caught…_

_It won’t happen!_

_You don’t know that, so listen to me carefully. You have to remember it, Miss Clara._

_I will do my best, but you know it’s not entirely up to me._

_I know. Trust me on this account. Okay, listen carefully – if they manage to discover us and if I’m not caught, I’ll try to warn you. I’ll draw a single spot on a note. I won’t say anything else, no need to put them on your trail._

_But…_

_No! Pay attention, please. If you ever receive that… You know it’ll be time to run._

        She came back to reality with a gasp.

       The spot. They’ve been caught out. Time to run.

        It was over.

       Tears of frustration and anguish sprang to her eyes, but she angrily wiped them off. She didn’t have the time for tears. She had to act. Right now!

       An instinct borne from the recent weeks led her straight to a wooden chest. Several years ago, she was still using it to put away her dolls, dreaming of the time she would have a pretty house, where she would live with a handsome husband and their many children.

      Now, as she opened the chest, she rummaged through her remaining toys without any consideration. She only cared for the Book, safely hid under the remnants of her childhood. When her hand brushed against the leather cover, still pristine despite the time passed since the Book was first created, she let out a loud sob.

       She couldn’t believe it was over. That they have lost. That the dream they had created together lay shattered at her feet.

     Through the tears she was no longer able to stop, she took the Book out of Its hideout, clutched it against her chest during a brief moment before opening It. The pencil she had carefully put between the blank pages last night nearly fell on the floor before she finally caught it between her fingers.

       She scribbled furiously, the shaking of her hand deforming her handwriting.

_It’s over. We’ve been caught out. You have to disappear._

       As usual, the Book replied at once, familiar elegant letters appearing on the page under her very eyes.

_Tell me what happened. I won’t leave you till you order me to do so._

       A fresh wave of grief welled up inside her at these words.

_I don’t want to_ , she wrote. _But I’ve received a note from Ilse. The signal she had once told me she would use in case we had been discovered was drawn. I can’t…_

      She gasped, pain piercing her soul, tears running down her cheeks.

_I can’t let them have you. I won’t. You have to go away._

       The “ _Please_ ” she added afterwards appeared between two wet rings.

        The Book remained silent for a few seconds. Clara’s rising fear that It would obey her right now, leaving her alone, was however suppressed when It wrote:

_Take me with you. If you have to run away… I will stay with you, Clara._

        The temptation to accept Its offer, to slip from her room into the growing shadows outside, to remain unnoticed by the servants and other members of the staff was so overwhelming Clara had to close her eyes, biting her lip. The child in her was already imagining a life of her own, with the Book by her side. But she knew it was just a fantasy. She was the Chancellor’s daughter. She was a woman – still Shackled, bound spiritually and physically by the Sparks. She would be spotted as soon as she set foot outside her home. As if It had read her thoughts, the Book carried on:

_You can always accept my gift, you know. It’s yours if you want it._

      She stared at this sentence.

     Yours.

     Something fierce in her, something she had awoken without even being aware of it, was clawing its way to her mind, screaming _Mine, mine!_

     But another part of herself was shaking her head.

     It was too late. She had refused once and her reasons to do so were still there. It didn’t stop her heart from breaking a little as she replied _No. I can’t. You know why. Besides, I can’t let Ilse take all the blame._

     The thought of the young woman caught in the clutches of her father’s guards made her ill. And, if she had been arrested, who knows who else had fallen into the trap?

_I have to save them._

_How?_ The Book asked. _You can’t even go outside on your own! It’s madness, Clara. Please, let me help you…_

_You can’t, my friend_ , she wrote, her hand shaking more than ever. _You have to let me go._

    An idea suddenly struck her. She put the Book on the floor, leaning over to the chest and searching through her possessions. There, at the bottom, she found the small box. It had been given to her by Willis – “a bauble I’ve bought on the Uru market,” he told her with a wink, laughing good-naturedly at her expression of wonder at the mention of the Sikelian Empire’s main city.

    She knew what was inside.

    She also knew it was much too dangerous to let it lying around.

    She heavily swallowed before putting the box beside the Book.

_You told me once_ , she scribbled, _that you could take small objects with you? Hiding them when you were away?_

_Yes._

    Clara didn’t hesitate. She put the box in the middle of the opened Book.

_Take it, then. Take it and disappear._

    She wavered and then added:

_Farewell, my friend. I’ve loved you._

    She released the pencil, which fell on the floorboards and rolled away. She was trembling from head to foot, overwhelmed by such fear she had never known. Through the haze of tears, she glimpsed the Book’s reply – _So do I, Clara. So do I_.

   “Go,” she whispered. “Go!”

    Before she finally succumbed to the temptation of snatching It back and never letting It go.

    With a light “pop” the Book disappeared from her sight.

    It was definitely over. She was all alone.

    She hid her red, tear-stricken face in her hands.

    She had to calm down, she told herself, trying to find some serenity inside her and failing. But she was nothing but stubborn. After a few moments, she managed to compose herself. She got back on her feet, went into the small adjoining bathroom to wash her face. She avoided catching the reflection in the mirror. She couldn’t wait any longer. Daylight was quickly fading, the familiar lethargy was already creeping up on her, breathing tiredness and the wish to sleep into her whole soul.

    She had to act now.

   She cast a last look at her room, where she had lived so many joyful moments. Where she had believed she might be able to change the world.

    “It might not be too late,” she whispered aloud.

    _He_ might be willing to listen to her. If she only could find the right words…

    Frail hope was growing up inside her and she clung to it as she opened the disguised door leading to the passage reserved for servants and leading downstairs.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

MOLLY

 

“Molly, you’re the most beautiful young lady I’ve ever had the pleasure to meet,” my partner whispers in my ear. I feel myself blushing as we slowly waltz together round the room. It’s a dream – it has to be, since I’ve never yet been invited to a ball, despite turning seventeen recently – but it’s so good, so nice I don’t want to wake up. Ever. I gaze up at the man I’m dancing with but his features remain hazy, I can’t really focus on him. It doesn’t stop my heart from pounding in my chest or my palms from going clammy with sweat. I dearly, desperately wish to know who he is. Because, if he turns out to be…

A sharp clang suddenly hurts my ear. Before I’m even aware of it, I’m sitting bolt upright in the bed. The harsh light spilling into my room through the large windows makes me blink and rub fiercely my eyes.

“Oh, Miss Molly, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to…”

I turn my head in the maid’s direction. She’s kneeling on the thick carpet, hastily picking up what looks like… I narrow my eyes. Sadly, I’m not mistaken – that little idiot has managed to knock down the whole content of my breakfast tray on the floor! A surge of anger spreads through my chest; However, I bite my lip, smothering the harsh – and entirely well-deserved – rebuke tumbling on my tongue.

As Miss Laurel would have said, if she were here - “Ladies, remember to behave with dignity in all circumstances, especially when dealing with people of inferior status.” It wouldn’t do for me to start screaming as if we were in the middle of the Friday fish market.

“By the Father Above!” I finally exclaim. “Did you try to kill me just now? Don’t you know how to properly serve in a respectable house?”

“I beg your pardon, Miss Molly,” she replies, still kneeling on the floor, head lowered. I can see her hands nervously clutching her immaculate apron.

I give a great sigh, looking away and trying my best to put some order in my dishevelled hair. I’ve tried everything, but I can’t seem to cure myself from the habit of tossing and turning in my bed. As a result, my thick, wavy hair always looks like some rodent’s nest in the morning. Something back starkly stands against the white sheets. My annoyance rises another notch as I’m reminded I’ve fallen asleep with the ear pods still on. For the Father Above’s sake, I’m not supposed to do that anymore! I hastily push them under my pillow.

“Look at me,” I order to the maid, who’s still on all fours on the floor.

Her red-rimmed gaze meets mine. Heavy shadows appear under her eyes; sorrow is etched in her features and it makes me fell ill at ease to witness her distress without being aware of the reason behind it. I look away first. Were she here to see it, Mother would have tut-tutted with heavy disapproval. The few times she has to directly deal with our house staff, there’s this distant look in her eyes as if somehow, she could see through them. I find myself struggling to copy it as I say:

“Really, Berenice, you should have learned that…”

She lets out a small gasp. She quickly smothers it, but it’s too late.

I become aware of the huge blunder I’ve just made.

I’ve called her by her name – her _real_ name.

A name I’m not supposed to have committed to memory.

Heat is prickling my skin as I can hear Mother’s voice ringing in my ears, explaining to one of her friends that she decided to christen all her male servants “James” and the female ones, “Jane”.

“Much easier that way!”

Berenice – _Jane_ – clears her throat, breaking the mortified silence between us.

“Do you need me to…?”

“No,” I cut her off harshly. “Clean your mess off and get out. I’ve no desire to see another proof of your clumsiness.”

She visibly flinches before stiffening and obeying with alacrity. She doesn’t even look at me as she gets up and takes her leave with a small bow, disappearing without a sound through the door reserved for servants.

I give a great sigh and eye the golden light flooding in my room. I might as well get up and see if someone is already up at this early hour.

* * *

 

The grandfather clock is chiming midday as I make my way to the dining room. My slippers are softly sinking in the thick carpet, my newest, peach-coloured dressing down is trailing a bit behind me, giving me the illusion of being a princess ready to enter the ballroom. It pleasantly reminds me of my dream before the maid rudely interrupted it. I’m clinging to the fuzzy memories – the lively music, a strong hand in mine, and those words murmured just for me…

But, as much as I try to obliterate from my mind the incident with Berenice – _Jane, her name is Jane!_ – I can’t get rid of the bitter taste it has left in my mouth. The worst is that I don’t even know which part of it I’m most aggrieved about – the mistake I’ve made as I call her by her stupid name? Or the fact my telling-off has added to her misery?

“Molly dear!”

I startle as Mother swiftly rises from her chair. I didn’t even notice that I’ve crossed the threshold of the dining room, where we usually take our meals. I paste on a quick smile on my lips as Mother comes near. She frowns as she takes my face between her hands and eyes me quizzically.

“You look pale this morning, darling. Has something troubled your sleep?”

For an instant, I am tempted to rat on Berenice. But a swift gesture behind Mother’s shoulder attracts my attention – Father is already seated at the breakfast table, talking in hushed voices with his secretary next to him. I feel my face clouding over at his sight – since he joined my father’s service nearly a year ago, Hector seems to share our meals on a regular basis, to my great displeasure. Considering his pale, pimply face across the table at breakfast is really not the highlight of my day. Add to this the fact he’s mute –what’s the good of employing someone who _can’t_ speak, by the way? – and you’ve got an unpleasant as well as useless guest at our table.

“Young lady, are you going to answer to me or should I send you to your room to make you learn how to listen to your elders?” Mother’s exasperated tone finally reaches me through the fog of my mind.

I feel myself flushing with shame. What’s got into me today?

“Sorry, Mother. I’ve yet to wake up, it seems.”

She raises a dubious eyebrow, not looking convinced by my reply. Fortunately, at this moment, Father raises his head from his discussion and catches my eye. His stern expression shatters as a smile lit up his face. He raises up, looking first at Mother, then at me.

“What’s going on my dear? Is something the matter with our princess?”

“No, just that…”

He cut her off, putting an arm round her waist, pulling her beside him. I feign not to hear her small squeak of pleasure.

“It’s settled, then. Take a deep breath, my love, you know I won’t have your mind troubled with nonsense.” He turns to me. “Come sit with us, Molly.”

He won’t have to repeat it twice! I slip on my seat gratefully, pouring myself a cup of tea, not waiting for a servant to do so. Mother lets out a disapproving sniff, but Father shoots me a wink, while James, as his wont, seems to be focused only on his eggs, not making any eye contact.

“Did you sleep well, princess?”

“Yes, father,” I quickly reply, a fierce joy suffusing my whole being. I’ll never admit out loud, but being the youngest child and the only daughter after five boys has its perks. Especially when all my brothers are married and living in their own houses.

He gives me one more smile before turning again to his – useless – secretary and whispering in his ear. Mother always says he’s terribly busy with the management of the Republic’s prison island, Stonewall. The Chancellor himself has appointed him Director of Stonewall five years ago and since then, I’m not seeing Father as much as before. All his life seems to be focused on his job. Even our summer house, as idyllic as it is, is overlooking the prison – at a distance, but still. As Mother says, it does not lead to happy thoughts when we are walking outside and glimpsing Stonewall’s complex looming on the horizon.

Fortunately for us, the gardens are large enough to allow us other and much better points of view. Despite what Father once said about the gardeners’ abilities– and that I shouldn’t repeat here – I think they’ve really done a wonderful job, maintaining this lovely place with close-cropped flowerbeds and lush shrubs, which just burst into bloom as soon as we come here. The lawn is a vibrant green carpet rolling down softly till the first grains of sand of our private beach. When my brothers do visit us here, they love to take a bathe down there, racing each other to the small, rocky outcrop a mile from the beach, only revealed as the tide is ebbing.

I’ve always wondered what it would be like – standing outside, the sea breeze on my bare skin, the waves lapping my feet.

Not that I would ever do that, of course.

The soft voice I’m used to as I put on my ear pods at night seems to whisper again in my ear.

_Be calm. Be happy. Smile. Everything is all right._

A warm feeling spreads through my chest and I smother a yawn behind my hand. I should have slept a little more – and tell Mother what happened this morning. It shouldn’t be allowed to happen again.

A soft knock at the door, followed by our housekeeper holding up a silver tray with several letters piled on it, is a welcome distraction.

“Your correspondence, Sir.”

“Very well, put it there.”

I’m in the middle of pondering the wisdom of sending a servant to the kitchens for another egg – but can I do it without Mother warning me again that it wouldn’t do at all to have to extend the waistband of my gowns? – when Father lets out a loud “Ah!”. Mother and I look up from our plates. He must have received very satisfying news – his black gaze, that I’ve inherited, is gleaming with joy, like it did on the day he was appointed Stonewall’s director.

            “What is it?” Mother asks, impatience underlining her voice. Father doesn’t say a word, only hands over a very fancy envelope to her. Even from my seat I can tell it’s thick, creamy paper. I quickly forget all this however as I catch sight of the emblazoned house sigil in the top right corner – a red falcon.

I’d recognize this bird everywhere – it’s the Cunninghams’ mark.

Mother has also identified it. She remains speechless at first, staring open-mouthed at the envelope, before shooting a bewildered look at Father.

“What on earth…?”

“Open it, love.”

“But I thought you were on bad terms with…”

“You’ve got the wrong idea,” he curtly replies. “Obviously. Now open it.”

She finally does so. I’m torn between growing trepidation and the absolute need not to let any emotion show on my face and betray exactly what I’m feeling right now.

Mother’s squeal loudly echoes in the room as she turns to me.

“I can’t believe it! We’re invited to the Cunninghams’ summer ball!”

I can feel myself losing the battle with myself – my cheeks are blazing with heat and I must look very stupid indeed, gazing like a lost child at Mother, whose smile has never seemed so bright.

The Cunninghams’ ball, where only the elite of Cohn Island is invited.

I can’t believe it either.

“How…?”

Father looks upon us both with a very satisfied mien.

“Just before our departure to our summer house, Mister Cunningham Senior has expressed the wish to converse with me. During the conversation, he lets it slip that his youngest son was still unattached, despite him being of age to find a wife…”

A white noise invades my mind. I can only hear on a loop, as if I have put on deficient ear pods, Father’s last words.

Cunningham’s youngest son – it can only mean…

Stuart.

With his lovely smile, his dark locks and a face which still haunts my dreams.

I’m so lost in my thoughts I do not immediately realise I’ve caught James’ eye from across the table. It only lasts one second, but the look of anguished betrayal I can see on his face is so vivid it puts me ill at ease. As if I’ve caused him some wrong.

“Oh, Molly dear, it’s one of the most beautiful days of my life!” Mother looks so radiant, so full of joy I quickly forget anything related to Father’s secretary. She rises up from her seat, beckoning me with an imperious gesture.

“Come on, we only have a fortnight to get ready, there’s no time to lose! First, you’ll try on every gown you possess and…”

I’m following as best as I can, trotting on her heels as she’s walking to my room. Father’s warning – “Don’t overexert yourself, love, it wouldn’t do to fall ill right now!” – rather falls on deaf ears.

I must look a right mess – red-faced, starry-eyed, heart still pounding loudly in my chest. If Miss Laurel were here, she would immediately send me to the relaxing room. But, for the first time of my life, I don’t really care. I’m about to attend my first ball. And the boy of my dreams has heard of me.

I’m living a dream and I’m not ready to wake up!

* * *

 

Later that day, Mother and I are still perusing at the contents of my wardrobe, discussing what to wear for the ball, when Father bursts onto us, making us scream with fright.

He doesn’t seem to pay attention to it, however. His own face is white with shock and a yet-unseen fear gleams in his gaze – something which frightens me deeply.

“I’ve just received news my mother died,” he tells us point-blank.

It’s so sudden Mother takes a moment to react.

“Oh, love, I’m…”

“ _That_ is nothing,” he abruptly says. “I’ve just been told the most distressing story I’ve ever heard. We have to return as soon as possible to Cohn Island.”

That shakes Mother out of her bewilderment.

“What? We’ve just arrived here and…”

“The Chancellor’s daughter has been murdered,” Father adds, dashing definitely my hopes of a pleasant summer to the ground.


	3. Chapter 3

THE FIRE MAN

 

“Honourable Sir, I beg you…”

“Silence!” the Fire Man roared, his voice booming under the high ceiling of the warehouse. In response to his fit of anger, Sparks flew to him, brushing against his skin, ensuring him without any word needed that he was right to act as such. The captain lowered his head, trying to hide from his sight like the cowering dog he was. He had to know then that no sign of protest would ever help him out of the trap he was currently in.

The Fire Man stood up straight, towering above all the other persons present in this pitiful excuse for a storehouse. You would have believed that the Cunninghams, with all their wealth and connections, would have at least afforded safe buildings in which to store their goods. The Fire Man let out a sniff of disdain and considered with a disgusted look the shipment in front of him. At the same time, in view of what these innocent-looking bags contained, he now had no doubts about the level of vigilance with which the Cunninghams’ staff checked the goods they carried from all parts of the world right into the Republic’s heart.

It would be a matter to discuss with the Chancellor. For the moment being though, he had other more urgent matters to settle.

His words were ringing with righteous anger as he addressed the whole crew, no one daring to meet his gaze.

“Do you realise to which danger your crass negligence has nearly exposed us all? What would you have done if the dog hadn’t detected these bags on board?”

This time the captain didn’t even try to justify himself.

“You’ve failed your employer,” the Fire Man carried on. “And worse of all, you’ve failed the Republic.”

His anger disappeared suddenly from his voice, replaced with savage satisfaction.

“I’ve been informed that a year ago, you’ve become a citizen of our beloved Republic, haven’t you?”

The man looked up at him, a bewildered look on his face.

“Yes, Sir.”

“I hope then you’ve enjoyed your stay among us, captain.”

He abruptly turned to the guards which were waiting for his orders.

“Take these Sikelian dogs and their damned ship out of my sight. From now on they’re all banned from the Republic’s waters.”

“What? No, you can’t do this!”

The Fire Man didn’t deign to answer him. The foreigners were surrounded by the guards and quickly taken out to the docks. The hubbub gave him a headache, still increased by the fury racing in his veins. He waited for the silence to cover once again the almost-deserted warehouse and then wordlessly dismissed, with an abrupt wave of his hand, the lackeys still surrounding him.

He was finally left alone. Alone with one of the biggest threats the Republic had ever known. Well, not exactly alone, he corrected himself, as he glimpsed the beloved, golden flow of Sparks lazily unfurling in the air, a familiar tentacle spreading out to him. This simple touch restored somewhat his courage. Because, underneath the anger still radiating in his whole being, an abject fear was piercing his heart, inch by inch.

What would he have done if this peril had remained undetected? For a second, he imagined what he had under his eyes being unloaded, released for free consumption in the streets of Cohn Island…

But no, it couldn’t be the goal of whoever had given the order of buying these goods and importing them here. It was obvious someone had paid a hefty sum to hide them in this warehouse, among the hundreds of thousands of bags, boxes and other shipments being stored here every day, waiting for their owners to pay them off to the exporter before carrying them elsewhere. The Father Above be blessed, the worst had bene avoided thanks to this random check.

“Who had ordered you?” he whispered. “And for which purpose?”

Before arriving here, he had been informed that two culprits already were under arrest, waiting to be questioned in the damp cells of Stonewall, the Republic’s oldest and sturdiest prison. He only had to follow the thread they represented and the whole plot would be unravelled – at least, he hoped so.

He clapped his hands. Immediately thereafter two young men, who had been put into his service, appeared.

“Burn the whole lot of them,” he commanded. “Throw the ashes into the sea.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He walked out of the warehouse. Outside, the sun was setting, setting ablaze everything under its eye, from the tiled roofs of the houses along the quay to the waves lapping against the wooden posts supporting the pier. It was a scenic atmosphere, the Fire Man mused, if one was willing to ignore the pale eye already going up in the sky.

A pale, round eye with, in its heart, a red shadow which was growing bigger and darker every day.

The Blood Moon was rising.

The Fire Man shivered despite himself before looking away.

Maybe the traitor who had tried to fool them all, importing these bags from the Sikelian Empire, had found himself under its malevolent influence.

Fallen under its spell and cursed beyond any hope.

 

* * *

 

Night had fallen a long time ago, but the Fire Man was still up. He was standing before a window in his living room, his gaze lost in the dark outside, the crackling fire in the hearth the only sound troubling the deep silence around him. It wasn’t uncommon to find sleep eluding him and more often than not, in this case, he opened the snuffbox having belonged to his father and used quite liberally its contents.

But not tonight.

Something was niggling him, some tiny blip in the delicate and complex mechanism of his mind. For the life of him, he hasn’t yet managed to put his finger on it. Might the cause of his agitation be related to the identity of one of the culprits arrested earlier? It was certain, he mused, that once this information revealed to the public, it would make a stir. The Cohn’s Voice would have a field day with this one.

And yet it wasn’t the problem. The Fire Man already had several opportunities to deal with high-profile figures of the Republic who figured they were out of his reach – the latest case being the imbecilic Foreign Affairs Secretary, whose seat was still vacant since his swift dismissal.

No, it wasn’t the trepidation mixed with the secret joy he always felt when righting the wrongs.

It was…

A sound suddenly hurt his ear.

Someone was going – _running_ – upstairs and it could only mean one thing – his master was summoning him.

 

* * *

 

“Fire Man. Please take a seat.”

He obeyed, trying in vain to hide the familiar pleasure he experienced at hearing his title rumbling from the Chancellor’s throat. The piercing gaze of the man sitting in front of him, across the table, always left him feeling like a naughty schoolboy being scolded by a headmaster. And yet the weight of this gaze, the sensation of being powerless to conceal anything from his master had a reassuring quality. The Chancellor, the father of the Republic, the master of the Sparks himself, was there, like a sailor taking the helm of his ship and not letting it go until it found himself in safe waters.

“I’ve hard of the bags discovered in the Cunninghams’ warehouse this afternoon.”

The Fire Man nodded. He wasn’t really surprised this had already been transmitted to the Chancellor.

“Did you burn them?”

“Yes. And their ashes were thrown into the sea.”

“Nothing left, then?”

“No, Chancellor.”

He tried his best to remain impassive but inside he couldn’t help seething a little bit. The anguish he perceived in the Chancellor’s harsh voice was unheard of. The man gave a great sigh, as if all the sorrows of this world were suddenly taking their toll.

“They told me a girl has been arrested.”

“As well as doctor Willis, Chancellor,” the Fire Man said.

The Chancellor closed his eyes then.

When he opened them again, they were filled to the brim with naked fear.

The Fire Man was left dumbstruck.

“What I’m about to tell you would be rendered public in a few hours,” the Chancellor declared in a strangled voice. “Any crime Willis had ever committed in his life… It’s nothing compared to…”

He stopped, gasping for breath. And the sorrow etched on his features at this moment was unbearable.

“Chancellor…” the Fire Man muttered, at a loss for words.

“He murdered my daughter. My little girl. She’s dead. All because of him.”

 

The Fire Man was left open-mouthed. Unable to understand how such a thing could have occurred.

“I trusted the man,” the Chancellor carried on, his eyes taking on a feverish gleam. “I trusted him too much. I have… I’ve killed her, Fire Man.”

The protest rising instinctively to his mouth was left unheard.

“But Chancellor…”

The man sprung to his feet.

“You’ve seen it? The Blood Moon rising?”

The Fire Man nodded.

“The Sparks… The Sparks had warned me. They’ve told me that it would come back. The Blood Moon only foretold its return. You know what I’m talking about, Fire Man!”

He was screaming, literally screaming and the Fire Man, who had never really dreaded his Master, found himself resisting the temptation to run away far, far from him.

“It was it, can’t you see? It found its way to Willis! It influenced him! It slipped its filthy, dirty ideas into his weak mind and… My daughter paid the price!”

Something clicked in place in the Fire Man’s mind. The blip which had stopped him from going to bed, the fear piercing his heart… It all came to this.

The Book had returned.

And this time it had killed.

“Fire Man…”

The Chancellor had stopped screaming. He only spoke in a broken whisper.

“Tell me… Tell me you’ll find it.”

“I will, Chancellor. And this time, it will burn.”


	4. Chapter 4

MOLLY

 

_Seven days before the Blood Moon_

 

“Come inside, Madam and young Miss, come inside! Oh, you look absolutely frozen!” Grandma’s housekeeper, a plump little woman, greets us with distressing cries, fussing over both of us. It would be more effective, I think, if she would first step back to let us enter the house.

When she finally does so, I’m ready to let her know a piece of my mind about her manners.

“Thank you,” Mother absentmindedly says, smothering a yawn behind her raised hand. “In truth, we have suffered more from the journey’s length than from the cold weather.”

“I shall get you two cups of strong tea, it’ll do you a world of good!”

She claps her hands once and a maid comes immediately trotting in, head bowed.

“Go fetch in the kitchens tea and cake for these ladies,” she orders in a harsh voice. “And when it’ll be done, I’ll expect their rooms to be prepared for their stay here.”

Our stay? But before we can get a word across, a tall man, dressed all in black and slim to the point of being gaunt, comes out of the heavy shadows lingering in the hall. His voice is deceptively gentle as he addresses the housekeeper:

“There’s no need for Jane to prepare any room for these ladies.”

He gives us a deep bow.

“I’ve received the wire sent by our poor lady’s sole heir. It would have been an honour to welcome you all here, but given the circumstances…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence – there’s no need, after all. At this hour, every inhabitant of the Republic must be informed of the murder of the Chancellor’s daughter. Last night, as I was lying in my bed, my ear pods glued to my ears, I couldn’t focus however on the reassuring murmurs.

I feel a shiver running down Mother’s arm as we stand side by side in this hall. During the rushed preparations for our departure last evening, we haven’t had the time yet to discuss the murder. But I’m willing to bet everything I have that Mother and I share in this regard the same feeling of heavy disbelief and nauseating fear.

How could she have been murdered? Young ladies like her were never left alone with strangers. Either they were at home or at school, travelling in the velvety safety of their carriages. Only girls from the lower classes are forced to walk in the streets, thus exposing themselves to terrible danger, as Miss Laurel always says.

Did she take this particular risk? Escaping everyone’s notice, slipping out on her own for… For what exactly? I can’t imagine.

Mother gives me a lingering glance before replying to the intimidating stranger:

“We won’t be able to stay here long, I’m afraid. My husband will soon join us and I’ve no doubt he would like to talk to you about the affairs of his late mother. In the meantime, my daughter and I would like to have a cup of tea and a light lunch.”

“Of course, Madam,” he says before turning to the housekeeper, who wastes then no time in leading us to a small sitting room.

 

* * *

 

As we are left alone, with cups of tea so bitter I’m tempted to spit it back and biscuits so dry I’m left thirsty after only one, I dare whispering to Mother:

“Who was this man? Surely he’s not the housekeeper’s husband?”

I’m not really aware of how the staff in a house like this is organised, but it’s really difficult to imagine that this strange man could be married to the plump and really chatty woman who has greeted us at our arrival.

Mother is looking at me with a puzzled frown.

“I don’t know… Why should it matter, exactly? Keep in mind, my dear, when you’ll have your own house to manage, that you only need one trusty person to answer every command you will have. The rest will sort itself out.”

I nod, even though I’m tempted to interrogate her further. However, I’m not fool enough to suffer a rebuke for being too curious, so I hold my tongue. She gives a great sigh.

“I really hope your father won’t linger here too long. His duties are calling him urgently to Cohn Island. I’m sure the Chancellor needs his services in this dire time.”

Her gaze sweeps round the little drab room we’re sitting in and her upper lip curls in disdain.

“I can’t imagine anything here your father would like to take back to our house. Look, there are even tears in the wallpaper!” she whispers to me in a horrified voice. I’ve noticed them before, long straight lines in the faded blue paper, as if someone had taken the time to rip one after another. I don’t know why this sight puts me so ill at ease. I take a small sip, doing my best not to betray my disgust as the bitter taste floods my mouth. A lady should behave impeccably in all circumstances. But Miss Laurel has never said a word about how I’m supposed to react when a family member I’ve never seen in my whole life died.

Should I show some grief? Ask about her life here?

What comes out of my mouth however is “Why have we never visited her?”

Distracted from her perusal of the sitting room, Mother shoots me a glare. But beneath the veneer of anger glinting in her eyes, I can see heavy reluctance. It is confirmed when she lets out a small “tsk” while smoothing down an imaginary crease of her skirt.

“It’s not the time for such questions, Molly! I cannot understand how you get so curious sometimes.”

“It’s just that… We’re here in a virtual stranger’s house when we were supposed to spend a long and peaceful summer down at our house and we’ve just received the most wonderful news…”

A small smile is playing on Mother’s lips.

“And now,” I carry on, daring to voice what’s troubling me since we left our summer residence, “I don’t even know if the ball will still be held!”

“Don’t be silly, love,” Mother immediately replies, an affectionate gleam in her eye, “the Cunninghams won’t cancel their annual ball.”

She reaches out, taking my hand in hers.

“Don’t worry, Molly, you’ll have the opportunity to meet Stuart.”

I duck my head, feeling my cheeks heat.

“As for your grandmother,” she says, “your father has forbidden to get in touch with her… and with reason! When your grandfather died, a long time before your birth, she became… inconsolable. She didn’t want to see anyone. She wasn’t fit company. So, we left her alone. It was better this way for everyone. You’ll understand it once you get children of your own.”

Father joins us at last and after a light lunch – Mother keeping a strict eye over the contents of my plate – we are invited to go upstairs, where the “late lady’s valuables were kept” according to the dour stranger. During our ascent, I overhear them talking:

“I shall transfer you in a few days money for whatever was necessary for her burial.”

“As always, we’re grateful for your generosity, Sir. I hope the services I’ve rendered here have been appreciated.”

I feel a shiver of disgust running down my spine. I hope Father won’t think of employing this man now that Grandma is no longer here. I’ve already a mute secretary in front of me every time we take our meals, that’s enough!

* * *

 

I’m the last to enter Grandma's bedroom after what seems like a never-ending ascent – how _many_ stairs does this house have, exactly? – and the change in atmosphere immediately strikes me. I frown a bit, trying to pinpoint exactly what is different. I glance at my parents, but they’re too busy examining the furniture and the knick-knack scattered over to pay any attention to me. I look around. This room doesn’t really stand out on its own. As the sitting room earlier, it does loo, a little drab, not very comfortable. There’s only one duvet lying on the bed and the wrought iron bedhead, like the entire frame, adds an unwelcome touch of severity. I take notice of shackles, half-hidden under the pillows. They seem to be directly fastened to the wall, whose paper had nearly been ripped off except for a few spots here and there.

I turn away, not able to understand the distress growing inside me. I should calm down, remember the soothing words I hear every night.

It’s going to be all right. I will soon leave this house and forget Grandma. Should be easy since I’ve never seen her and as tradition goes, there’s no portrait of her.

And yet, I think as I survey Grandma’s belongings, it actually feels like a person, a real person of flesh and blood, has been in this room. Like she has lived, dreamed, cried or laughed there.

I walk to the only window, looking onto the small front “garden” – if you can call like this the bare shrubs and the red-brown patches of grass growing in front of the house – and a bit farther, down the rocky path we have to climb this afternoon, where the few boats anchored here are rocked by turbulent waves. The sun is setting, the moon is rising in the clear sky. The hour for me to get in bed is coming fast. And yet I don’t feel as tired as this morning. Something here is keeping me awake, fighting the familiar heavy warmth spreading in my chest.

In my mind’s eye, I can almost picture Grandma standing at exactly the same place, looking over the same landscape. An old little lady, crow’s feet around her eyes, her white hair tied in a loose ponytail while her dark gaze – so similar to mine – will be locked on to the sea. I wonder what was going on in her mind.

Did she want to strangle her chatty housekeeper just to have a moment of silence? Was she afraid, as I am, of the man dressed all in black? Was she thinking of us all, waiting for a visit which never came?

Tears are springing to my eyes and I curse myself for a fool, taking care to wipe them off before my parents see me in such a state. I’m not going to cry for a total stranger! I think as I turn to the wall, trying to regain some composure.

That’s when I see it, laying inconspicuously on the bed stand.

 

* * *

 

It’s a small brown object, barely larger than my palm. I don’t know why it attracts my attention in such a way, but I find myself powerless resisting the sudden pull it exercises on me. As I come closer, I can see that under its dark surface, it seems to be made up of something white and… may it be opened? I peer suspiciously at it, not daring to touch it, as a faint warning bell starts ringing in my mind. At school, Miss Laurel has warned us several times not to trust anything out of ordinary - “especially if they come from the Sikelian Empire, never mind we have concluded a peace treaty with them after the last war” – and to report immediately to the authorities if we see something or someone suspicious.

I glance behind my shoulder – my parents are still busy with Grandma’s staff, whispering in hushed voices and examining every object which seems valuable in their eyes.

Do I call and point out to them the strange little thing I’ve found?

I hear at this moment a small “flop”. When I turn the head, I see that the object – whatever it is – is now open. Unable to resist the temptation to touch this time, I reach out and brush a light finger against it. It’s… silky. And at the same time, familiar. It reminds me of something I’ve already come across.

Yes, that’s it!

The Republic’s newspaper, _Cohn’s Voice_. Father has allowed me when I was still a child to sit on his knees and try to read the headlines.

But what I’m watching right now doesn’t look like the newspaper.

It’s smaller and it contains way more pages.

My heart starts to pound quicker in my chest.

I don’t know what it is, but I should call my parents. Play the safety card. Miss Laurel’s shrill voice is still echoing in my ears, talking about Cohn’s daughter, who brought shame to his family when she refused to obey the Father Above’s orders.

“Cohn was forced to kill her. Can you imagine the terrible ordeal for this man?”

A shiver runs down my spine at the thought I could unwittingly find myself in such a situation. Not refusing an order, of course, but putting my family in danger even if I wouldn’t want it. Who knows what could happen when strange, foreign objects meet your eye?

I’m ready to open my mouth when something extraordinary happens – a black dot appears on the otherwise blank page.

It grows, moves up and down, and starts forming words, then a complete sentence.

I’m staring at it, open-mouthed, blood roaring in my ears. I’m completely terrified and yet unable to look away.

I watch as some unseen hand is writing a message which seems to be only addressed to me – “ _Hello Molly_ ”.

I scream.

* * *

 

“I don’t care!” I hear Father roaring through the door of the room which has been given to me. “You should have kept an eye on her! Now look what we have – she could fall ill, and I don’t need this on top of everything else!”

I don’t understand Mother’s tearful words, but Father is obviously not impressed.

“Yes, it’s all your fault, don’t try to cast the blame on me!”

I can’t stand it. I put the lumpy pillow over my head in the vain hope Father’s terrible words will be muffled that way.

I shouldn’t have screamed – no, scratch that: I shouldn’t have looked at all.

It was a terrible idea.

I should have called as soon as I see that… that… Oh, I don’t even know what it is!

One thing is certain though – as I stood here, screaming my head off and indicating the object with a trembling finger, none of my parents saw it. They were screaming in turn, asking me frantically what the matter was, what I was so afraid of.

The more I kept pointing it out, the more they keep looking at me as if I were crazy.

And now I’m locked in this room, being ordered to lie in bed, while Father is tearing into Mother and it’s so awful!

I shouldn’t have screamed.

_What would you have done differently if you had the chance, then?_

I bite my lip.

It really can’t be explained – how were they unable to spot something which was right under their nose?

Unless…

They can’t see it.

Without any conscious decision, I throw away my pillow and sit up in the bed.

The story of Cohn’s daughter pops back into my mind, but this time, I discard it.

How could a simple object be brought to life so suddenly? And even more extraordinary – how could it know my name?

I get up and pad silently to the room.

I’ve never disobeyed my parents, I think, my trembling fingers around the door’s handle. But the unanswered questions are burning my mind and I can’t stand it.

I have to know.


	5. Chapter 5

THE FIRE MAN

 

“Mark my words, Beanie, that place is going to the dogs.”

The Fire Man resisted the impulse to roll his eyes, as the guards following him in the dark, damp maze of Stonewall’s bowels carried on jabbering in his back.

“… Told me there had been no deputy governor for several weeks! Can you believe it? And the look on the men here… I wouldn’t like to come across any of them in a dark alley!”

Beanie didn’t really answer to his colleague, murmuring from time to time a rough “Aye”. Not that it stopped the other from talking Beanie’s ear off. The Fire Man assumed he had a lot of practice tuning out.

Nevertheless, the guard had a point. From a distance, Stonewall always stood high and proud on its rocky shore in the middle of the Straits, but if you looked closer, you started noticing something was clearly off. The increasing feud between the Cunninghams and O’Hare, Stonewall’s governor, for the Foreign Affairs Secretary’s post still vacant was clearly affecting the management of the most famous Republic’s prison. The sentinels posted outside looked haggard, lack of sleep darkening the shadows under their eyes, their uniforms were crumpled and from what he could smell and see as he walked past the cells, prisoners weren’t much better treated.

He promised himself to talk about this appalling situation to the Chancellor as soon as he came back to Cohn Island. For the moment though, he had to focus on his mission.

He ducked just in time to avoid scraping the top of his head against the low ceiling of the tunnel they’ve just entered. The sentinel preceding him and holding the torch turned back a few seconds too late.

“Warning, Sir, the tunnel…”

His face fell as the Fire Man glared at him.

“Yes, sentinel. _I_ have noticed. Carry on and don’t waste my time any longer.”

* * *

 

When they finally stopped in front of the prisoner’s cell, the Fire Man allowed himself to let out a discreet sigh of relief. He wouldn’t say it out loud for all the gold still hidden in the Republic’s mines, but he had never liked finding himself behind the blood-red stones of the fortress. It seemed to him that the tremendous weight of the prison was swelling up as long as he was here, threatening him, in every whisper, every moan, every creak of not enough oiled hinges to tumble on his head and trap him underneath.

Sparks didn’t like either the inside of the prison. Their absence, the lack of them brushing against his skin, reinforcing his energy, giving him still more strength to fulfil his many tasks was insufferable.

The cell’s door opening put an abrupt end to his musings.

“Here she is,” the sentinel declared uselessly, keeping his head down as he entered the cell and lifting up a little bit his torch. The Fire Man followed, mouth already open, ready to tell the prisoner the decision which had been taken as regards her fate when his gaze caught sight of what was lying on the floor, hands still shackled on the wall.

He stopped dead.

Disbelief was swiftly chased away by fury. His voice swelled to a roar as he turned on the trembling guard, who did not dare meeting his gaze.

“What have you done?”

“That’s not me…”

“How do you explain… this?” The Fire Man asked, his long finger pointed at the prisoner. “Did any of you receive the Chancellor’s orders? This… woman was to be kept alive!”

At that moment, one of the guards – Beanie or his colleague, it didn’t matter – took upon himself to come in the cell. He kneeled with obvious disgust mixed with pity next to the prisoner and after a minute:

“She’s still alive, Sir, but barely. Her pulse is weak.”

“That’s not my fault, Sir!” the sentinel protested, nearly breaking down into tears. “The night patrol… They said that they just had a little fun with her, that’s all…”

“A little fun?” The Fire Man repeated. “Oh, I will give them all the fun they need.”

He turned to his guards.

“Find them and bring them to Cohn Island under heavy watch. I will look after them personally.”

He spared a look at the victim, still unconscious. Not very surprising after what she had obviously endured. He needed to act quickly. The Chancellor had been clear – they needed her alive and more important, able to speak.

“You,” he told the crimson-faced sentinel. “Give me that torch.”

The sentinel obeyed without a word.

“Untie her, take her in your arms and follow me.”

“I’m sorry,” the sentinel mumbled while bending down to the prisoner. “I didn’t know…”

“Hold your tongue, young man, I’ve no desire for your empty apologies. Your life depends from now on the life of this young woman, you hear me? She dies, you die.”

Without waiting for an answer, he turned on his heel. He couldn’t wait to get out of this damned place. As he quickened his pace in his haste to get outside and find again the Sparks, he couldn’t help but curse man’s foolishness and greed.


	6. Chapter 6

_Six days before the Blood Moon_

 

“Six days?” I wince as Mother’s not-quite-screech echoes in a very unseemly way in our house’s entrance hall. “It can’t be!”

The poor boy who has been tasked to deliver the Cunninghams’ message blushes to the roots of his hair while averting his gaze. “I’m sorry, Madam, but…”

She doesn’t seem to hear him, her eyes riveted to the letter in his hand. I hear her mumbling “It cannot be done, it’s just absolute madness, oh, by the Father Above what are they thinking of?”

No need to try taking a peep at the content of the message – the fact that it comes from the Cunninghams combined with Mother’s dreadful exclamation is enough to let me deduce that the date of the Summer Ball, the one event that nobody in his right mind would ever think of declining has been brought forward.

Six little days during which we will have to find suitable dresses, shoes, tights and a myriad of other trinkets we cannot do without.

Were I in my right mind, I would be beside myself.

I tighten my grip on my luggage’s handle. For the whole journey from Blue Island, that we left once more at dawn, to our home, I refused to be parted from my bag, eliciting a startled look from Mother and a frown from Father.

I’m quite sure that under another circumstances, he would have scolded me for behaving like a child. My salvation lies – if I may so – in the fact that his mind is fully occupied with the murder of the Chancellor’s daughter. And indeed, we had barely set foot earlier on the docks of Cohn Island that we learned, thanks to the shrill voice of a newsboy, that two culprits had been arrested.

Doctor James Willis and a young servant of his house.

Doctor Willis, the beloved hero back from the Sikelian war turned into darling of high society, with his gentle manners and handsome face.

Now they accuse him of having attempted to assault the Chancellor’s daughter.

I’m not quite sure what it all means, but no matter the accusation, I can’t quite believe it.

Father didn’t say anything though when he announced it to Mother and me. He didn’t protest, didn’t even look surprised.

Could it be all true, then?

“What’s the matter now?” Father abruptly asks, drawing me back to reality. He strides to us, followed – what a surprise! – by the secretary of his, and snatches the message from Mother’s hands. I see her startling at this brisk gesture and feel guilty again. If I haven’t screamed last evening when the… object started talking to me, they wouldn’t have quarrelled with each other. I try to focus on this and not on the object safely hidden under my clothes in the bag I’m still holding.

Reading the message, Father lets out a soft exhalation before raising his gaze to us both.

“Six days,” he repeats. “You better be ready, then. Especially you, Molly,” he adds, ignoring Mother’s noise of protest. “I want you to be lovely and charming, as a young lady should be. We cannot afford to offend the Cunninghams in any way.”

The way he said it… I ignore the shiver running down my spine and shoot him the smile which somehow always allows me to have my way. “Of course, Father.”

“Remember it’ll be your only chance to meet Stuart,” he carries on, ignoring my smile. Something stirs in me at this, something wild and angry and before I can smother this impulse, I hear myself replying: “I haven’t forgotten!”

I say it louder than I wanted and my voice rings in the whole hall, bringing every gaze on me. I lower my gaze immediately, shame burning my whole face.

“I’m sorry, Father, I shouldn’t…”

“Indeed,” he cuts me off. “Go to your room, Molly, it’s obvious you should still take some rest.”

I cannot do anything else but obey. I’ve barely taken two steps that I hear:

“And leave that bag here, for the love of the Father Above!” he says, snapping his fingers to summon a servant. “You, girl! Take this and put it in my daughter’s room.”

I make the mistake of raising my face.

Meeting directly the gaze of Father’s secretary, concern and something else I can’t quite put my finger on radiating from his whole expression.

“Go upstairs, Molly!” Father orders in a voice as loud as the thunder. I hasten to comply, holding up my dress so not to step on the hem in an automatic gesture.

Father’s voice flats up as he declares:

“Don’t wait up for me tonight. I’ve been summoned to an urgent meeting at the Chancellor and I don’t expect to be back until late.”   

* * *

 

I hasten to step in my room and to close the door behind me. My heart is thundering in my chest. What was I thinking of, replying to Father in such a way? Within hearing distance of the servants? First, I steal this… whatever it is from Grandma’s house instead of giving it to my parents.

_Neither of them could see it, remember?_

I silence pitilessly the little voice in my head.

It’s as if I do not even recognise myself anymore.

“What’s going on with you?” I whisper in the silence.

The soft knock at my door makes me gasp.

“Mistress Molly?” Berenice’s… Jane’s voice is calling through the door.

I take a few steps back and open the door.

“Here is your luggage, Mistress,” Jane tonelessly says. “Will you allow me to put it all away now or should I come back later?”

I’m ready to snap at her, to tell her that of course she should come back later, that I’m not to be disturbed during my sleep – not that I intend to sleep at all, but she doesn’t have to know that – when I catch myself and steal a look at her expression. Her face is still lowered, as a servant’s should, but what I can see is enough to realise she truly looks ghastly.

It’s even worse than two days ago, when I have chastised her for having dropped my breakfast tray.

“B… Jane, are you all right?”

The question is out before I have the time to consciously think of it.

“Never been so well, Mistress, thank you,” she replies with a slight curtsey.

Her whole body is trembling.

I open my mouth to insist but before any sound can come out of my mouth, she pulls something out of her pocket and holds it out to me.

“I found it just before your door.”

I frown at the small posy in her hand. A small circle of daisies tied together with a length of twine and in its heart, a single red rose. It reminds me suddenly of the gifts young men from lower classes are offering to the girls they’re fond of. I saw it once – a young couple walking slowly in the street arm in arm, both of them apparently oblivious to the world around them, having only eyes for each other. The girl was holding a posy such as this one against her heart and was smiling softly at her companion. The carriage drove past them quickly but I had the time to spot the look on her face.

I couldn’t forget it.

I feel myself flushing for no reason. I take the small bunch of flowers, peering at it closely, to no avail.

“I… It must be a mistake.”

To my great shame, I hear my voice wavering.

Bere… Jane’s voice is still bland as she replies:

“Do you want me to get rid of it, Mistress?”

“No, I’ll do it myself later. You’re dismissed, Jane, I’ll take care of my luggage for now.”

That earns me a quick glance of bewilderment. But she doesn’t dare saying anything else and after a last curtsey, she leaves me alone.

 

* * *

 

After a last curious look at the posy, I put it on my bed. While I’m still confined in my room – an order even Mother wouldn’t dare to break, even if Father is no longer at home – I’ve got time on my hands to examine the object still hidden under my clothes in my bag. Thank the Father Above my bag isn’t too heavy for me to lift it up to the table. I go through my clothes without any consideration for the care with which my temporary maid at Grandma’s home has folded them. A strange relief swallows me whole as I finally feel under my fingers the soft surface of the object’s cover. I pull it out delicately from its hiding place. It doesn’t seem very impressive in broad daylight. I open it – the pages are still blank. The words I’ve seen appearing on paper have disappeared.

A prickle of unease runs down my fingers.

Did I dream the whole thing?

Or… I shiver as a thought, even more terrifying than the others, pops into my mind.

Was this object somehow _talking_ to me? But how could it be?

I’ve been taught at school to pray to the Father Above, to celebrate Cohn’s ascent to the sky as a miracle and once or twice per year, usually for special occasions, Mother and I dutifully accompany Father to the temple.

In truth, I’ve never been very devout, never feeling the Call like some at school obviously did, expressing the wish to become a Cohn’s Bride – a religious order accepting only young virgins behind the thick walls of their convents.

_Leave it be!_ a voice not unlike the one I’m hearing through my ear pods whispers in my ear. _Don’t open it again!_

But I can’t – _won’t_ – obey.

My hands are trembling as I delicately put the object still open on the polished wooden floor just in front of me. I’m sitting cross-legged, heart in my throat.

The page remains blank.

 “Hey,” I whisper before repeating it in a louder voice a moment later.

Still nothing.

I frown. What now? I wonder. An idea suddenly surges through my mind. I get up, go to my bedside table and start rummaging in the drawer. If I’m not mistaken… Yes, there it is! I think as my fingers clutch the pencil stuck in the bottom. Mother hast left it here by accident a few weeks ago and I totally forgot to give it back to her. I examine it with not a small touch of defiance – perhaps because I never got the hang of writing neatly, as some of my schoolmates do, at school. In my defence, the teachers never encouraged us much to practice.

“Do not worry over your writing, ladies,” Miss Laurel used to say. “If you know your letters and numbers well enough to notice when something goes amiss in your household’s accounts for instance or if one of your servants tries to con you, give it a rest. You may want to focus on more important matters.”

I’ve never bothered going against that advice. Until now. I curse my clumsy fingers as I sit up on the floor and with my free hand, put again the object on my lap. The pencil lead leaves a dark blotch on the white paper as I try to focus on what I’m going to write. I cringe seeing it, but I carry on – I have to try.

With an excruciating slowness, I draw, letter by letter, the first word I’ve ever written in months.

“ _Hello_ ”.

I barely have the time to examine it and let out a sigh of relief that just below my word, black letters appear.

“ _Hello Molly._ ”

I stare open-mouthed at these two words, the very tangible proof that I did not dream what happened at Grandma’s house. More determined than ever, I seize the pencil again, ignoring the cramps in my fingers.

“ _Who are you?”_

The reply comes swiftly, black elegant letters standing out clearly on the white paper, as if they were waiting for this very moment to appear.

“ _I’m the Book_.”

And before I can ask what it means, it goes on:

“ _I’m sure you haven’t seen anything like that before, am I right?”_

For a moment, I imagine the Book preening like one of those peacocks in True Sons’ Park and crying for attention. It makes me smile.

“ _Yes, but it doesn’t tell me what you are,_ ” I answer, preferring the polite way instead of just writing “ _What’s a Book?_ ”.

It replies more slowly this time, as if It was pondering his next words.

“ _I’m many things. A wealth of knowledge. A haven for stories. I’m a provider of dreams, a way for people reading my pages to escape from reality._ ”

I frown.

“ _Reading your pages? But… They’re all blank!”_

Pain starts to pulse in my fingers and I should be ashamed of my gauche writing. But I soon forget all this as I read the Book’s reply.

“ _Unfortunately, you’re right. I had to protect myself, you see. Normally, people are not able to see when I don’t want them to but sometimes, there’s an exception. Fire Men, helped with Sparks, able to peer at what would be written inside and use it against me. So, I wiped the pages clean and stored the memories elsewhere, where they won’t get access unless I want them to_.”

I read all the words carefully twice. But it still doesn’t make sense. What are the Fire Men? And the Sparks? I’m suddenly reminded of this evening at Grandma’s when I started screaming. Neither Father or Mother reacted to the Book’s presence. Does it mean that… ?

“ _I don’t understand_ ,” I start to scribble. “ _Why would you not want these Fire people reading your pages_?”

“ _Because I’m a forbidden object. Something which should not be allowed under the Republic’s laws. If they find me… They will steal all my secrets and then they will burn me. All the stories I’ve been given will die with me. You see, I’m the Book with a capital letter – because I’m the only one of my kind infused with magic_.”

Under my fingers splayed against the paper something suddenly ripples. As if the very paper was alive. I let out a small cry but I do not let the Book go. My heart is jumping into triple time in my chest, fear and panic thudding in my veins.

Forbidden.

Not allowed.

They will burn me.

Oh, by the Father Above, what have I done? What did I think when I hid this bag in my luggage? I should get rid of it and the sooner the better!

Yet something is pinning me down here, in this position.

The Book must have sensed it somehow because new letters are appearing on the paper.

“ _I know you’re afraid, Molly. My words have left you confused. You’re thinking of hiding me somewhere, where no one could ever find me and accuse you of bringing me here, aren’t you_?”

“ _Yes_ ,” I reply, red-faced.

“ _I understand. You’re free to leave me behind you and forget everything I’ve told you. But, if you want to know more, I can promise you one thing._ ”

I wait but the Book remains silent.

“What is it?”

“ _I will tell you everything I’ve been told. Everything people before you have written on these pages, everything they confided in me and…”_

The sharp knock at my door startles me so badly I jump with fright.

“Molly?” Mother calls. She’s already pushing the door open. I have no time to react. I can just sit there, the Book left open and…

“What are you doing sitting on the floor?” Mother asks, looking down at me with a puzzled frown.

“I…” I look down at my lap, where the Book still lay a moment ago.

It has disappeared.

Mother takes a few steps to my bed, eyes narrowing at… Oh.

“Where do these flowers come from?”

“I… I gathered them when we were at Grandma’s house. I would like to keep them in memory of her. Please.”

The lie comes so swiftly to my lips with just the right intonation. A small part of me is left wondering how I can show myself so deceitful with so little effort, but I feel all in all so relieved that this thought is quickly swept away.

“If you want, Molly,” Mother finally answers. She doesn’t seem very pleased, but she doesn’t add anything to that matter. “Now, get up, please. We have still a few hours left before dinner and bed and I would like to start purchasing everything we need for the Cunninghams’ ball.”

“Now?” I ask. “But I thought we will begin tomorrow!”

A shadow comes and disappears so quickly from Mother’s face that I’m not quite certain I haven’t dreamed it.

“I would have loved to, my dear,” she softly says, putting the small posy on my bedside table. “But I’ve just received a message from your father. Tomorrow… we’re going to sail to Stone Island.”

“Stone Island? Who is dead?”

She looks at me with annoyance.

“The Chancellor’s daughter! Have you already forgotten?”

I stand still, unable to understand what she’s telling me.

Everyone knows that Stone Island, also called the island of the dead, only shelters the last residence of men. Female bodies are thrown into the sea with all their belongings.

If that’s true, the decision to bury the Chancellor’s daughter at Stone Island is… I don’t even have a word.

“Now, get ready and come down quickly!” Mother urges. “We don’t have much time,” she adds, looking fearfully at the sun slowly coming down in the sky.

I comply absentmindedly, my head so full of questions I’m afraid it’s going to explode. Why are we all summoned tomorrow at Stone Island? Who has suddenly decreed that women, even if they were the Chancellor’s daughter, have got the right to be inhumed there?

And even more important – where has the Book disappeared?


	7. Chapter 7

MOLLY

 

_Five days before the Blood Moon_

I catch my reflection in a window just before the carriage which should lead us to the harbour stops in front of us. The black, yet snug dress chosen for this occasion is quite flattering, but the hat on my head and the veil in front of my face are definitely ruining my figure. I regret for a moment that should he come looking for me, Stuart is quite sure to miss me, seeing that I’m going to be unrecognizable to him in this outfit, but I console myself with the thought that in five little days, at the Cunninghams’ party, no black veil, as see-through as it might be, would mask my features to the whole crowd.

“Stop dreaming, Molly, and get inside!” Father snaps at me, drawing back from my dream of becoming the queen of the ball.

Mother shoots him a reproaching look but doesn’t dare protesting. I bite my lip as I sit by the window. Father has come home very late last night – not that I was awake at that time, but I caught the servants whispering to themselves this morning – and since then he is in a thunderous mood. Even the servants have noticed.

“It’s this moon,” maids were telling one another. “Did you see how she was hanging low in the sky tonight?”

“The Father Above protects us, it brings out the worst in everyone.”

Then they caught sight of me coming downstairs and fell silent.

I lean a bit in my seat, trying to glimpse this moon that anyone seems so afraid of. But the cloud cover quickly discourages me from even trying.

 

* * *

 

As we set foot on the harbour, Mother grasps my forearm.

“Look, Molly! The Cunninghams’ own boat right there!”

For a dreadful second, I feel the desire to lift my hat veil but of course I can’t. It would be terribly unseemly. I turn my head as discreetly as possible in the direction the Cunninghams’ boat is supposed to be. I know nothing about ships and other such things, but this one is clearly a beauty. A sleek, mighty beast, it is currently standing a bit aside from the rest of the flotilla, purring like some large cat ready to pounce. The silver-coated bow currently covered with a mourning veil, the dripping paddle wheels, the men running onboard to execute the orders of the captain, everything is giving off a sense of quiet, powerful assurance.

“Get on board,” Father abruptly says before walking away at a brisk pace along the crowded quay.

“Where is he going?” I blurt out.

“Shaping your future,” Mother whispers excitedly.

I understand what she’s saying when I see Father walking up Mr. Cunningham himself – he’s as tall as Father but with a much plainer face. His beak of a nose and his large brow are even more accentuated with his receding hairline, tufts of red hair peeking from under his hat. Thank the Father Above Stuart doesn’t look like him!

“Oh, dearest Molly, I’m so happy for you!” Mother starts gushing about in my ear. “I’ve dreamed of this moment since you were born – happily married, with a beautiful estate to reign upon and an army of servants…”

Her voice starts to fade as I suddenly catch sight of a tall, lanky man striding along the quay. He’s coming closer to Father and Mr. Cunningham, who are still engrossed in their discussion. They both startle when they glimpse the intruder and to my amazement, step aside to let him pass. He doesn’t even deign to acknowledge them, looking straight forward, as if he is seeing something others cannot. His black frock makes him look even gaunter than he is.

The only spot of colour is the insignia sewn on his back – a flame.

_The Fire Man._

The words of the Book are dancing before my eyes.

I suck in a breath before abruptly interrupting Mother’s speech:

“Mother, please, that man over there…”

“What? What are you talking about?”

Ignoring her growing displeasure, I dare to seize her sleeve between my fingers while trying to point out as discreetly as possible the man, who is quickly walking away, zigzagging between the groups of chattering people.

“Who is he?” I ask.

Mother huffs her irritation, but she narrows her eyes in an attempt to find who I’m talking about. But it’s too late – I see him walking up the plank leading to a boat even more luxurious ship than the Cunningham’s.

The Chancellor’s own ship.

I feel bowled over.

Whoever this man is, he seems important enough to know personally the Republic’s leader himself, Cohn’s descendant, blessed by the Father Above.

“Really, Molly, it’s shameful behaviour!” Mother hisses low enough as not to be heard while grasping my elbow in a painful grip. “Here I am, talking about your future, and you’re not even listening, all this for the sake of some foreigner… Has the school taught you nothing? How can you even notice a man while you may soon be betrothed to Cunningham’s youngest son?”

She’s hurting me. I’m soon begging her to release me.

“Mother, please…”

She finally relents, her glare directed at me softened a little by my expression.

“I do this for your own good, young lady. For your future. For us, women, there’s no greatest honour than to become a wife and a mother.”

I nod. I’ve heard this a thousand times and I’ve never even thought of challenging it, but today seems to be the exception, because the memory of Grandma pops into my mind. She was a wife, a mother and a grandmother. Yet she died alone, her eyes having never laid on my face. Did she even know I existed?

I dare not speaking up, however.

“You’re still here?”

Father has joined us, providing a much welcome distraction. His tone sounds annoyed, but I can see his features are more relaxed, less tense than this morning. His discussion with Cunningham Senior must have resulted in a desired outcome.

“We were waiting for you, dear,” Mother simpers while shooting me a silent warning to hold my tongue.

“Up you go, then, ladies!” he orders jovially, waving at one of the steamboats, becoming even more crowded by the minute. I obey silently, trying to cut a path among the throng waiting to get on board.

I do not look back.

* * *

 

Despite the crowd inside the boat and on the deck, I only hear people whispering softly between themselves. Even the children are quiet, not leaving their parents or nannies to run away, not even crying as their hands are strongly held. The mood has turned dark and gloomy, everyone here reminded that we’re attending a funeral and not some weird party. The cold wind makes me shiver. However, I barely register the sensation.

Who was this man, who seems so close to the Chancellor?

A shiver runs down my spine as I remember all too clearly what the Book told me yesterday.

_Fire Men, helped with Sparks, able to peer at what would be written inside me…_

I have to know. There’s only one person who can give me that answer, I think, as I catch my father’s gaze from across the deck. He draws closer, forcing his way through the crowd, ignoring the nasty glares shot his way, till he can reach me and Mother. He pulls me closer to him, an arm placed around my shoulders.

“Are you cold, Molly?”

It’s the case, but I shake my head, taking courage from the kind smile he gives me.

“Father… May I ask you something?”

He looks surprised, as if he wasn’t expecting his daughter to show some curiosity, before catching himself and replying:

“Of course, my dear. I’m sorry I was so short with you and your mother this morning. (He gives a great sigh.) You’re not supposed to know this, Molly, I don’t like to talk about my youth or anything related to my parents, really. May the Father Above bless their souls, but truth is… They didn’t have much time for me.”

The pain spreading across his face at this moment makes my heart ache.

“I promised myself that I wouldn’t make the same mistake again with my children. That I would care for them and their future. (His voice softens.) You’re my latest, Molly, my only daughter. I couldn’t stand if you ended up being unhappy in your marriage. I want to give you to a man who will treat you in the way you deserve, do you understand?”

“Yes, Father,” I whisper. At this moment, I don’t think it’s possible to love him more than I already do. I fight the temptation to nestle against his shoulder, but I doubt he’ll welcome this gesture in such a public setting.

“What was your question, then?”

“The man who… interrupted your discussion with Mr. Cunningham Senior…”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mother stiffen and shooting me a glare which promise swift retribution for my impertinence. However, I’m much too far now to back away.

“Who was he?”

Father remains silent, his dark gaze wandering round the deck, focusing first on the other passengers and then the open sea.

“Father?”

He shoots me a bland smile.

“Which man are you talking about, Molly? Because I’m quite sure my discussion with Mr. Cunningham went uninterrupted.”

I should stop and apologise for the stupid question. Yet something in me is unable to let it go.

“You must have seen him,” I insist. “He was tall, taller than you and quite gaunt, dressed all in black with a fl…”

“It’s enough, young lady!” Mother furiously hisses, startling me. “I don’t know what you’re playing at, but if you persist in behaving like a spoiled child rather than the accomplished young woman your father and I believe you to be, you won’t enjoy much the coming days!”

Before I have the time to protest, Father adds:

“You better listen to your mother, Molly. You should be focused on your future meeting with Stuart Cunningham,” he says low enough as not to be heard “your future and ours as well depend on the impression you will make on him.”

He stares at me until I nod meekly.

“In the meantime, in order to cure you of whichever illusions you’re suffering from, I recommend you listen to the Network at night. You always put your ear pods on every night?”

I totally forgot yesterday and I hope my cheeks won’t betray me as I say “Yes Father.”

“Very well. Remember, Molly – be calm, have a ready smile and everything will turn out all right.”

A shadow looming on the horizon catches my eye.

In the strait between Cohn Island and Stone Island, the impressive silhouette of a warship has just appeared. It seems to wait for us, its canons all pointing down and even from this distance, I can see the whole length has been covered with dark fabric. My heart starts thudding loudly in my chest as I realise it carries the coffin containing the body of the Chancellor’s daughter.

And, for the first time since I have been apprised of her murder, I wonder if someone told her the same thing – to be calm and to smile – before she was killed.


	8. Chapter 8

THE FIRE MAN

 

The rocky shores of Stone Island started to rise out from the fog when the Chancellor broke the heavy silence which had permeated the ship’s cabin since its departure.

“Fire Man…”

“Sir?”

In the grey light of the day, the Chancellor’s face seemed to have aged by ten years since the last time he had seen him. The Fire Man felt his heart clench at this sight and he struggled not to let any of this show.

“I… have been remiss in not congratulating you…”

“Sir, I beg you…”

“Do not interrupt me, Fire Man,” the Chancellor ordered, raising a hand.

The Fire Man feigned not to have noticed it was trembling.

“I was saying that it would be quite unforgivable from my part not to congratulate you for the most excellent work you’ve done these last days. Reading your report last night on the events having occurred at Stonewall during your visit, I’m convinced that without your decision, we would have lost this young woman.”

The Fire Man merely bowed his head in recognition. In fact, very little had been needed in the end to bring the female servant back to life. Oh, she wasn’t yet able to get out of the bed or even to sit up without help – but after all, her capacity to move independently wasn’t on today’s menu.

What had been desired – required – by the Chancellor in order to devise the trap which currently awaited them on Stone Island was the young woman’s ability to speak.

“She had to be able to plead for her life,” the Chancellor had mused during a previous discussion and the Fire Man agreed with him.

There wasn’t much they knew about the Book, but of that they were sure – It wouldn’t be able to resist the hapless woman’s supplications.

“One way or another, It would appear there. It would seek to attract her attention. How could It stop Itself, when we would give the order of executing her on the very place Its first victim was buried?”

The Fire Man had shivered at these words. He wasn’t easily troubled – a highly undesirable trait of character for the proper execution of his duties – but the truth behind the tales, legends and other rumours abounding on what happened long ago on Stone Island left him very uneasy, indeed.

Over the years, the Church and the Republic’s authorities had done their best to root out and to stamp out any trace of heretic folklore surrounding the remote island. The slightest whisper of anything differing from the official Church’s doctrine found its owner being sent straight to Stonewall and charged at best with intentional failure to comply with the religious duties every Republic’s citizen had to observe.

People grew silent and bowed their heads, but who knew what they believed in the secret of their hearts? What they told their children or their friends at nightfall, everyone sitting around the flame of the hearth?

Old tales had a way to find people’s ears and tongues.

Especially when the single culprit for spreading them, for pouring out its spite into anyone’s mind, for poisoning the young and gullible was still at large.

The Fire Man clenched his fists.

The Chancellor must have been thinking on the same lines because he declared, after a long moment:

“You know, Lewis, when I first heard about the Book’s wrongdoings, how our bright country was still plagued by Its presence, I dreamed of being the one to put an end to it. I used to imagine myself finally laying my hands on It and throwing the tangle of scandalous lies It represented into the fire.”

He let out a mirthless chuckle.

“My vanity was my downfall. To think that, when I was dealing with the affairs of state, working relentlessly in my office, my own child, my lovely daughter was…”

The dry sob escaping his throat echoed gloomily in the cabin.

“Chancellor…” the Fire Man whispered, not knowing what to do.

“Don’t say anything, Lewis. It was all my fault, I know that now. Clara’s blood is on my hands and when my soul would finally weighed in the Father Above’s holy scales, I know he would find me guilty.”

He raised his bloodshot eyes till he found the Fire Man’s gaze.

“If I could, I would destroy everyone and everything in my path just to be sure the Book is no more, do you understand?”

“You have only one word to say, Chancellor,” the Fire Man replied “and I’ll set the whole country ablaze.”

Fierce longing arose in his heart. He could already depict the flames burning high in the air, swallowing everything and everyone with passionate greed.

A terrible beauty the likes of which might never be seen again on this earth.

“I know, Fire Man. The time of destruction might come but for the moment, we will pin our hopes on our prisoner – at least, one of them – locked up on the hold.”

The Chancellor walked up to one of the portholes, through which the outline of Stone Island was becoming clearer with every passing moment.

“You see, Fire Man, one’s greatest quality could become one’s biggest weakness.”

His gaze was set on Stone Island.

“We both know the Book loves Its victims young, fair and above all, female.”

He carried on in a whisper:

“And we will give It exactly what Its black little heart desires.”

The Fire Man knew that his master didn’t expect him to answer, but he couldn’t stop the words from rolling on his tongue and out of his mouth:

“I’ll be ready, Chancellor. I give you my word.”


	9. Chapter 9

MOLLY

Although it is one of the first ships to come close to the single landing stage of Stone Island, our steamboat still has to wait long minutes before the crew is allowed to start maneuvering the vessel so that it can be brought parallel to the berth. The whole ship is vibrating under my feet as it comes closer to the quay. The captain’s orders can still be heard through the roaring thunder of the engine, his stern voice spurring his men into action. It’s unfortunate that passengers can’t be bothered to follow the same discipline, I think as someone jostles me from behind. Father immediately intervenes, putting himself between me and the intruder, glaring down at him until the man mumbles apologies.

“Come on,” he roughly says to Mother and me, putting both hands on our shoulders and steering us to the gangway, “we don’t have time to lose with these fools.”

Easier said than done, though. After excruciating minutes spent stuck in the crowd, I can’t help sighing with relief as I finally set foot on the muddy shore of Stone Island. A flush of shame spreads across my face as my gaze catches, a bit further along the shore, those privileged enough not to have to travel with public steamboats, disembarking from small crafts, gallantly offering their hands to the ladies.

One day, I think, I will be one of these women. And sooner rather than later.

* * *

 

We walk in silence to the cemetery’s entrance, crawling on the island like ants building a colony. A shiver runs through me as I think, at each step taken on the muddy soil, “ _That’s it. That’s the earth on which Cohn walked, the island which sheltered him when he was cast away, his people rejecting him all because he followed the Father Above’s orders. He stood on his very shore and saw the giant waves, that the Father Above created in his anger with the heathens who refused to listen to him, sweeping through the islands, swallowing up people in their depths and wept for them_.” I’ve never set foot on Stone Island before – its sacred earth being usually forbidden to women – I was expecting to feel a true connection to Cohn and his story.

And yet that’s not the case. A deep uneasy feeling is blooming inside me and it spreads even more as we walk past the many statues and other marks of devotion to Cohn. They are standing at irregular intervals along the outer wall of the cemetery, some of them brand new while others have been here for a very long time, judging from their crumbling forms and dulled outlines. And beyond the top of the wall, I can glimpse towering mausoleums, soaring gravestones, stately family vaults, each of them carved with names and dates of ancestors dead long ago. This city of the dead seems to wait for us, unseen eyes watching our every move.

Judging our souls.

“Mommy, Mommy!”

A tiny girl half my age is tugging insistently at his mother’s sleeve, a young woman barely older than me. Considering her confused expression, she doesn’t seem to know what to do with the child. She’s casting a wild look around her, as if some helpful nurse might appear from thin air to relieve her of her daughter. No such luck, as all household staff and other workers have been left behind at Cohn Island. Passengers of the steamboats only belong to the gentry.

“Mommy!”

“Shhhh! Will you be quiet!”

“But Mommy, I don’t understand. Why are we here?”

The young girl’s high-pitched voice does not only attract my attention. I see other passengers, male as female, gazing at the child, dressed neatly all in black. Her mother’s embarrassment is betrayed by the blush on her cheeks as she strives to answer:

“I told you before, The Chancellor has summoned us here to attend his daughter’s burial. Now hush…”

“But why must she be buried?” the child asks, ignoring the ripple of hushed noise through the crowd her question sparks off. “When Auntie died, you told me she has been thrown away into the sea…”

A large man pushes his way through the crowd, furious anxiety written all over his face, and bends down to the child before saying words I can’t pick up in a gruff voice. The young girl looks at him dumbstruck, as if he has physically hit her. She remains silent during the rest of our journey, as we all do.

* * *

 

It’s a relief when we finally arrive on what looks like a large square, which is not cobbled like the path we’ve just taken, but covered with large, smooth paving stones. In front of me, across the growing crowd still arriving from the landing stage, rise two gigantic stone pillars, each of them supporting an iron gate. The Gates of Final Truth, I assume, even though I have no idea why they are called like that.

They’re open at the moment and reveal for everyone’s eyes what stands in the space between them – an odd wooden structure, comprised of some stairs leading to a small platform. A rope is hanging above it.

I would like to ask Father what it is, but he’s in the middle of a discussion with a fat, balding man and I prefer to wait until he’s finished before interrupting him. In the meantime, I examine the surroundings.

In the square’s centre, another platform has been erected and just in front of it, under a canopy as dark as the low, threatening clouds over our heads, lies a coffin. I feel my breath hitch in my throat. Even Mother lets out a small gasp – unless it is caused by the man now standing alone on the platform, his gaze locked on the coffin.

The Chancellor.

Although I’m used to see his stern face printed everywhere – in the headlines of _Cohn’s Voice_ , on posters stuck up on the streets or in the portrait gifted to Father when he was appointed Director of Stonewall – it’s quite something to see him in the flesh. He’s standing still, a father watching over his many children, a man in mourning too, dressed all in back and wearing an expression as sombre as his clothes.

The overwhelming grief writ on his features is infectious – my heart grows heavy with sadness and regret, and suddenly I’m not wondering any more why we’ve all been gathered here, attending the bereavement of his beloved child, even though a female one.

Doesn’t he have the right to bury her where all his family is inhumed? It’s not a man to ask permission – it’s a man who takes it.

I silence the little voice asking me then why all the other men are not deciding the same when it comes to their deceased wives, mothers or daughters.

Mother suddenly leans in, whispering in my ear “Do you see him over there?” and very discreetly nodding at one of the canopy’s poles.

All thoughts of dead people fly away as I turn my head a little to the right, my gaze landing on a tall, slender figure.

My heart skips a beat, my palms inside my gloves grow clammy with sweat and a warm wave spreads across my whole body – I’ve never been happier to wear a veil, I’m sure I’m a right mess now.

But who could blame me?

He’s so impossibly handsome.

My eyes rove greedily on him – his perfectly tailored suit emphasizing his strong shoulders, the play of muscles in his back, the lean waist, the long legs.

I can already imagine myself by his side, his arm linked with mine and his deep, smooth voice whispering in my ear…

“Bring in the prisoners!”

The sharp voice of the Chancellor, breaking the solemn silence hanging over us all, snaps me out of my reverie.

* * *

 

A group of guards strides in the square, pushing their way through the assembly. They surround a man who is trudging along, arms put behind his back, his bare head bowed so that no one can really distinguish his features. But, after all, there’s no need – everyone knows who he is.

Doctor James Willis, war hero before becoming one of the elite’s darlings, and now accused of murder.

I hear a few shocked gasps and whimpers in the crowd, but there’s nothing compared with the cries which resound when Willis is forced to raise his head. When I was little, Father caught one of his servants red-handed – I still don’t know what it meant exactly – and instead of turning him in to the guards, he decided to set the rest of our male staff loose on him, promising each of them a golden coin if they “get the job done”.

I caught him laughing afterwards and telling Mother “they beat him black and blue”.

My mind couldn’t conceive then such a thing.

Until now.

Women are openly weeping, some of them even fainting, and I see several men grumbling under their breath, their embarrassed gazes looking away from the prisoner. I steal a glance at Father, who’s staring still at Willis, a very satisfied look on his face. It suddenly occurs to me that, as the Director of Stonewall, the very fortress where Willis has been kept until now, he must have known what happened there.

Did he order, like he had all these years ago, such a punishment? Did he pronounce the same words I’ve heard before – “ _beat him black and blue_ ”?  My heart lurches painfully in my chest at this thought and I turn my head in Stuart’s direction. He’s watching Willis, an elegant, long-fingered hand holding white-knuckled the canopy’s pole. His father leans in, muttering something in his ear. Suddenly, Stuart steps back, shooting such a venomous glare at his sire that I remain dumbfounded. His lovely mouth twists into a sneer and even from where I stand, I see his lips articulating “I know!” with such strength that if we weren’t in a muttering and rumbling crowd, I do not doubt it would have been heard by a great deal of people. Cunningham Senior turns an unattractive shade of puce. They stare at each other like two duelists ready to fight. Stuart’s father finally relents, shooting a last disgruntled look at his son before drawing back a little.

Stuart turns back to the platform, where the prisoner has been hauled onto by the guards, two of them holding him under his arms. I can only see his neat profile, but there’s no doubting the stricken look on his face. I don’t know why he’s taking all this at heart – is it the source of the disagreement between him and his father? Was he also left aghast at Willis’ mistreatment? I wish I could go to him and help him somehow.

That’s when I see her.

Unlike Willis, who is cast in the foreground, exposed to the public eye, she’s standing a few steps behind on the platform, half-hidden in the shadows. From where I stand though, it’s easy to distinguish her as well as the man keeping a close watch on her.

The same man I’ve glimpsed on the quay, intimidating so easily Father and Cunningham Senior.

The Fire Man.

A shiver runs down my spine.

My first instinct is to turn to Father, to point out to him the tall, gaunt official in his black frock – he couldn’t deny his presence anymore!

But something holds me back.

Maybe it’s the way he and the young woman are standing so still and silent in comparison with the growing agitation around me.

Or maybe it’s because I’m reminded of the lie Father spun so easily before, when we were on the boat.

_“Which man are you talking about, Molly? Because I’m quite sure my discussion with Mr. Cunningham went uninterrupted.”_

Liar.

A word I’ve never associated before with Father.

I’m feeling quite sick suddenly.

How do I dare having such thoughts?

On the platform, the young woman suddenly sways forward. The Fire Man reaches out just in time, holding her back by the arm. His expression grows thunderous, he seems to growl something in her ear. She doesn’t react.

She’s staring blindly at the crowd and the small wooden structure erected between the Gates of the Final Truth. Her face is slack, as if someone has wiped off every feeling from her features.

From her soul.

As if she was already dead.

Willis chooses that moment to turn back in her direction. I guess that he’s trying, before the Chancellor starts haranguing the crowd, to see her, maybe even to try to put her mind at ease. I watch with avidity mixed with a growing unease how he tries and repeatedly fails to attract her attention.

She’s dead.

A living, breathing corpse.

And Willis mist come to the same conclusion because, even on his injured face, the despair grows quite obvious. I realise I’m clutching my hands against my belly, as if I was keeping myself from… I don’t even know what for, but the impulse to move, to get away from all this is getting stronger with every passing minute.

The crowd is growing more and more silent, they’re all waiting for the Chancellor’s words.

For their master’s voice.

I should do the same thing, taking deep breath, remembering the soft voice I hear every night in my earpods – _be quiet, smile, everything’s all right_.

But these words seem to have lost all their meaning, in comparison with what’s happening under my very eyes.

Something intangible but very real nonetheless, is focusing all my perception on the prisoners.

And on Stuart.

Stuart, whose tears are running down his cheeks.

Stuart, who’s openly staring at Willis.

And when their gazes caught, I see him, quite clearly, mouthing at him:

“ _I love you._ ”

At the same moment, the Chancellor steps forward.

“People of the Republic!”

His voice sounds like a clap of thunder and covers completely the cry of anguish I’ve just let out.


	10. Chapter 10

MOLLY

 

I can’t believe it.

It just can’t be.

I did not see the man I’m getting married with whispering in public “I love you” to another man. And a murderer to boot.

I lift my veil, in defiance of everything I’ve been taught at school and by Mother, I rub my eyes with trembling fingers, but to no avail.

The very scene seems imprinted on my mind.

I feel hot and cold at the same time. There’s a noise droning on in my ears, my mind remains blank and my heart… I look down at my shoes, at the muddy ground interspersed with pebbles beneath my soles.

I never understood the old saying about hearts broken into a thousand pieces.

Until now.

The man in front of me shifts a little, forcing me to step forward.

“Molly! What are you doing?” Mother whispers furiously to me, pulling down again my veil and hiding my face.

I do not answer. The temptation to burst out laughing takes me by surprise and I have to bite down on my lip not to giggle out loud.

It can’t be.

Everything happening around me – the Fire Man, the Chancellor on the platform, Willis bound and chained and Stuart…

I close my eyes. The impulse to laugh disappears, replaced with a desire to cry so strong I just can’t resist.

I can’t.

Wave after wave of grief and bitter anger are surging up within me, destroying everything in their path.

It can’t be.

On the platform, the Chancellor is speaking, but I can’t hear a word of what he’s saying. All around me, women stop crying, recovering their senses, and men are suddenly standing up a little straighter, frowns and other anguished expressions smoothed away from their faces.

I don’t understand.

_I love you._

I’m shivering from head to toe, a strange fever holds me in its grip, I barely have the strength to raise my palm against my mouth to smother the sobs welling up in my throat. I’m surrounded by thousands of people, yet I’ve never felt more alone than at this moment.

On the platform, the young woman is swaying back and forth, like a dead leaf about to be carried by an ill wind.

It can’t be.

It’s a nightmare, a terrible nightmare, I’m going to wake up in my bed, safely ensconced under my covers, the discreet clink of china on the breakfast tray Berenice’s bringing to me.

_Calm down, smile, everything will be all right._

But, when I open my eyes, nothing has changed.

The Chancellor’s still speaking, haranguing the crowd all around me; Even worse, people have started shouting, raising up their fists in Willis’ direction, as if they wanted to hit him.

“Death for the traitor!”

“Death, death, death!”

I don’t understand what’s happening.

_I love you._

A cry of despair constricts my throat, rolls out of my mouth and is swallowed by the growing chaos piercing my air.

I didn’t know I could feel such pain.

* * *

 

The Chancellor suddenly raises a hand, asking for silence. Everyone obeys – it’s almost frightening how quickly they comply. Even Father, by my side, who hasn’t yet shot any glance in my direction since we’ve come here, is staring at the lonely figure on the platform, completely enraptured.

They all seem to be in thrall to the Chancellor’s voice.

“My beloved children,” he carries on in a soft voice, suddenly looking like a man harassed by grief, “that wretched traitor…”

He’s waving at Willis and I notice that he has been gagged since I’ve seen him…

_I love you._

“That wretched traitor wasn’t alone in the perpetration of his crime. He had an accomplice.”

The young woman is suddenly pushed forward by the Fire Man. He himself doesn’t follow her, remaining in the shadows at the back of the platform. A guard stops her from falling on her knees and takes her roughly by the elbow. She doesn’t seem to register any of this. Her stare remains blank.

“Look at her,” the Chancellor says. “Doesn’t she look familiar?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mother nodding and it startles me a bit, despite my grief. Did she know that woman?

“I see you all agreeing. Of course, you know her. You know her like you know all the James and Jane labouring at your service, as they should. They’ve been born for this. Their only objective in life, the only thing they deserve is to work for us. For our comfort. In return, we entrust them with everything dear to us. Our house. Our family. Our children.”

A sharp intake of breath ripples through the assembly.

“That’s why what she has done is the most awful and shocking treachery I’ve ever endured.”

He seizes the young woman by the scruff of the neck and pushes her forward till she stumbles over the platform’s edge. The crowd goes wild, pushing and jostling each other in an attempt to take hold of the servant. But the Chancellor holds her back, propping her upright without any effort, as if she was a puppet and he held the strings.

I can’t look away from this.

Tears are still running down my cheeks, but I don’t even know if they are for me, for my stupid illusions and hopes or if they are for her.

I don’t even know her, and yet, at that moment, I feel as if some link has been woven between us, tying us together.

“She abused my daughter’s trust, she poisoned her mind, passing her notes as if they were friends!”

The crowd is roaring back in outrage.

“She put her deliberately in danger, throwing her under Willis’ eye, exciting her master’s lust and desire for something which didn’t belong to him. Don’t be fooled by her appearance! The day my daughter was murdered, she lured her into Willis’ house under false pretence, she pushed in the room where Willis was waiting for her and she locked the door behind her!”

Can it be true?

Has it really happened in that way?

It seems so… peculiar.

Despite the pain still racking my mind, questions are emerging from the fog which has invaded my soul – how could friendship be built up between the Chancellor’s daughter and a simple servant? How could she be left alone in an unmarried man’s house, even if he was a doctor? Mine visits me at home, under Mother’s watchful eye.

And why would a man such as Willis risk everything he has gained since he came back here – his occupation, the social status he enjoyed – in assaulting that young lady? Would the motive be his only lust?

My fingers clench my tear-stained handkerchief.

I don’t even know precisely what it means.

Miss Laurel at school always told us “not to remain alone in the company of an unmarried young man” in order to prevent “any stain on our character”.

“Your behaviour must be beyond any reproach!”

What about men? I suddenly think. Were they told the same thing? Or were they taught something else entirely, something which allows them for instance to inspire love in another man and still be able to murder a young woman because of this so called “lust”?

Oh, I don’t even know anymore! Nothing makes sense whatsoever in my mind.

But I seem to be the only one. All around me, people are screaming with one voice “Death! Death to the traitor!”

They required the same fate for Willis earlier. Are they aware of this?

* * *

 

“Ladies and gentlemen, finest members of our Republic,” the Chancellor resumes with a deep voice. “I know that many of you don’t understand why I decided to summon you here. And even more why I resolved to go against the custom, laying my daughter to rest in my ancestors’ cemetery rather than leaving her on the shore of the Women’s bay.”

Everyone calms down, hanging on the Chancellor’s words.

“I don’t blame you for this,” he says, his gaze sweeping through the public. “Cohn himself – Blessed be his Name – did abandon his beloved wife to the cold water, so why would I do something different? Why would I dare to take it upon myself to break the law of our forefathers?” he says, raising his arms as if he could reach out for the Gates of the Final Truth and drag the blessing out of his ancestors’ silent mouth.

He suddenly turns to the young woman who is barely standing on her feet, looking like she’s ready to pass out.

“Because I want every last of you to know that this servant,” he claims, pointing his forefinger at him, “as she attacked what’s mine, has attacked me and the Republic!”

He points out his finger at the crowd.

“She attacked you all!”

An angry wave, born from a thousand mouths, is roaring back with approval.

“Today, I’ll bury my daughter here, on this very island where Cohn, First of his Name, took shelter from the foulness and the depravity of his people. He cried for them as the waves rose and engulfed them, leaving behind a brand new world for us to build upon. Let that be a reminder for everyone who would dare to attack us – Like the Father Above, we’ll know no mercy. We’ll hear no cries or useless pleas. Because, if you dare to disobey us, we’ll find you and kill you with our bare hands!”

Father, Mother, everyone starts clapping hands in a frenzy, their features ablaze with devotion for their leader.

“Let her grave be the stone on which you and I will renew our vows of faith and loyalty! Let the blood of the traitor seal this agreement! One nation, one leader, one god!”

He turns round, back to the Fire Man, while the assembly is going wild. In the racket which has invaded the square, I barely catch him ordering:

“Light the pyre.”

The Fire Man nods, before going down the few stairs leading to the platform, a group of guards following him. The young woman is grabbed by one of them. I see Willis attempting to intervene between her and the soldier, but he is hit backhanded, a striking blow which makes him fall on his knees.

I hear an anguished cry in the crowd – might it be Stuart’s?

A queasy feeling arises inside. I feel quite sick suddenly, on the verge of vomiting. I press my fingers against my closed lips.

“Come on,” Father says, “we should get closer!”

I don’t want to, but I’m much too afraid being sick to attempt to protest. I let him push his way through the excited audience, everyone jostling his neighbour in order to get closer from this “pyre” erected between the massive Gates.

I close my eyes, not even looking where we’re going.

Let us be caught in the mass of bodies all swarming over us.

Let me be lost in the crowd.

I don’t want to see what’s going to happen.

But the Father Above turns a deaf ear to my prayers and I find myself being granted one of the best spots to watch what’s going on.

I watch her being nearly carried along by a soldier.

I watch the Fire Man’s gaze glinting as he walks closer to the pyre. He raises his hands, palms turned upwards, and the first flames erupt from the bundle of sticks neatly laid at the foot of the pyre.

I watch the faces around me glowing with excitement, their righteous anger turning now into a convenient excuse to behave like mad men and women.

The more I watch, the more I want to flee.

Leaving them all behind.

And suddenly, amidst this noise, breaking the lonely bubble I find myself trapped into, a voice I’ve only heard in my head whispers to me:

“Hello Molly.”

* * *

 I gasp.

The Book.

It’s It.

I don’t even know how it is possible or why it would have suddenly appeared here, but the certainty takes root in my mind as I start looking around.

The Book is here.

Fire is roaring now, flames threatening people stupid enough to get close to. The Fire Man slips behind the prisoner, saying some words to her with a hungry smile. She doesn’t react. I don’t even know if she’s listening to him.

“Molly,” the Book whispers.

“Where are you?” I cry out, heedless of who could listen to me. “Show yourself!”

“Molly… Save me, Molly. They’re calling me. It’s a trap!”

At the same moment, the young woman raises her head. For the first time since I have laid eyes on her, I see an expression of anguish spreading her otherwise slack features. Does she hear it?

Her gaze catches mine.

“Molly. Save me.”

Am I dreaming or are her lips moving?

“Molly!”

The Fire Man is staring at the flames, as if something would rise up from this blazing inferno.

The prisoner closes her eyes.

The Fire Man pushes her into the fire.

“Molly!”  

“No!” I scream, a cry immediately swallowed by the swearing and clapping crowd. “You belong to me!”

I don’t even know where that claim comes from. But it’s true.

A ripple distorts the heat of the flames. The Fire Man plunges in the direction.

At the same moment, I feel something slithering against my skin before stopping and coiling right over my belly.

I press my hand against it. Through the fabric of my dress, I can feel a familiar form.

It’s the Book!

“You save me, Molly,” it whispers before falling silent.

My heart jumps into triple time, as, all around me, people are laughing, celebrating the death of the so-called traitor. They haven’t heard my screams.

Neither do they hear the Fire Man's cry of fury.

But I do.


	11. Chapter 11

THE FIRE MAN

 

Casting its reddish, squalid light over the night sky, the Blood Moon was winking at him through the window.

Mocking him, proving by its sole presence that he didn’t have any power over it.

_You can’t touch me._

No more that he could touch the Book before.

The Fire Man violently pulled the curtains together before shooting a glance at the door of the Chancellor’s office. Still closed.

He gnashed his teeth in anger.

Couldn’t the man be left alone for once in his life? Why had that pack of cowardly, boot-licking dogs to come back here, especially after such an eventful day, and still harass their benevolent father, yipping and yapping in his ears about their endless problems? The Fire Man dug his hands deep into his pockets, stopping himself from striding in that office and throwing out the latest sycophant.

But he couldn’t do it. Of course, he couldn’t. He didn’t have the right to act in such a way. No matter how much the members of the Chancellor’s cabinet feared him and his Sparks, each of them would cry in outrage if he ever attempted something like that. The Logans and Johnsons, respectively chief project manager of the public works and chief of the police, might hate each other with unrivalled passion, but they would always take sides with each other rather than let an intruder such as himself take precedence over them.

The Fire Man sighed. Through the ajar window, a string of Sparks drifted in his direction. Their fleeting brush against his skin gave him some relief.

“Thank you, Chancellor. I bid you good night.”

“Good night, O’Hare.”

Finally! The Fire Man thought, leaning against the wall, not looking away as the smug gaze of O’Hare, Director of Stonewall, the state prison, met his. He had at least the satisfaction to see the man coming out of the Chancellor’s office, followed as always by his “secretary”, the unfortunate son of last Foreign Affairs Secretary, falter in his step as soon as he caught sight of him.

“Fire Man,” he whispered in greeting, bowing his head.

He deigned to nod at him in return before dismissing O’Hare from his mind. He was like all others – a jumped-up politician clutching at his own little bit of power like an old lady might do with his pearls.

He had no idea what happened today.

He didn’t wait for the Chancellor to call him over.

He strode confidently in the office and closed the door behind him.

* * *

 

The Chancellor didn’t look up as he entered.

Elbows on his desk, head in his hands, he looked the very picture of despair. The Fire Man felt his heart jumping into his throat. They had both been so close to success earlier. The Fire Man could almost see again the frenetic dance of Sparks moments before he threw that wretch into the pyre’s flames. A fire lit on the very grave of the witch’s daughter, a woman tortured and hurt beyond any repair, only able to stand and speak if requested… The despair emanating from her had almost been palpable in its intensity.

So why hadn’t it worked? Why had the Book failed to materialise before his very eyes?

Because It was there.

Lured into the trap they had so cleverly devised for It, called in the very place where It had been born, under the same red eye which had witnessed Its birth, if legends could be believed.

It had been there.

And yet it had found a way to escape.

It was infuriating.

“Fire Man…”

The raspy whisper drew back to reality.

“Chancellor, Sir, I’m so very sorry…”

The Chancellor waved his apologies away.

“It doesn’t matter, Lewis. She… I…”

He stopped abruptly, and with one finger, loosened his tie’s knot. In the light of the hearth’s fire, his face seemed so pale the Fire Man frowned.

“Chancellor… Do you want some brandy?”

“No, thank you, Lewis. Besides, I would be surprised if there’s any left in the bottle. That bore of O’Hare still managed to gulp down half of it every time I called him here.”

The Fire Man couldn’t smother a chuckle.

“I was waiting for you, Lewis,” the Chancellor carried on, his expression still grim. “All these Cabinet’s members, congratulating me endlessly for my speech at Stone Island as well as offering me their condolences as they had done it since… she died… They just have no idea what almost happened right under their nose!”

He raised his head, bloodshot eyes betraying his grief and weariness.

“They have no idea, Lewis. No idea of who our true enemy is, no idea what’s going on!”

He suddenly thumped his fist on his desk, jostling the ink bottle so hard it nearly fell on the floor.

“They were all standing here, screaming their support, pointing out their fingers at that girl, clapping their hands as we put her to death. All these men… How can they be so blind? They’re able to see the Sparks, they saw you calling up the Fire and they still think this little wisp of a servant was the true culprit!”

He gazed at the Fire Man in amazement, as if he was truly asking him how all his fellow countrymen could reveal themselves to be so stupid.

“How could they not _see_?”

“Chancellor, if I may be so bold…”

He waited for the other man’s nod before pursuing:

“For my part, it rejoiced my heart to see them so clueless about our affairs. That means they can’t stick their bloody noses into our business!”

If he had hoped to distract the other man from his exhausted state even for a moment, it was a vain attempt.

Heavy silence, only disturbed by the flames in the hearth whispering to each other and the Sparks brushing their kisses against the Fire Man’s skin, engulfed them both.

“You would think that, Lewis,” the Chancellor finally declared after a long moment, rubbing his eyes. He took his time to let out a weary sigh before gazing back at the Fire Man. “And what if I told you you don’t know yet all the secrets of our trade?”

“What do you mean, Chancellor?” he asked, worry worming its way into his soul.

Instead of replying, the other man remained silent. A strange look flickered over the his worn face. He seemed to come to a decision – getting closer to the Fire Man, looking at him in the eyes before putting a heavy hand on his shoulder.

“If you whisper a single word of what you’re about to see and hear, I’ll have your hide. Understood, Lewis?”

The naked threat made him shiver, panic spreading in his mind. What could have caused this sudden swing in the Chancellor’s mood?

“I don’t understand…”

“You will if you come with me. But be warned, Lewis. It will cost you dear.”

* * *

 

They took a door whose existence had been until now carefully concealed under a sliding panel, that the Chancellor seemed to push from the wall with a simple touch. The Fire Man doubted it was as easy as that in truth, but he kept his observations to himself. Heart thudding in his chest, he followed his master in a shadowy, shabby little corridor where there was barely any light to guide them. It all changed however as they reached a second door, made of solid oak. The Chancellor unlocked it. Behind it the Fire Man discovered stairs which couldn’t have been more different from the corridor they’ve just left – iron wrought handrail, marble as white as a dove’s feathers under their feet. Even the stone of the walls seemed to shine with a strange gleam as they ascended. The Sparks were dancing in the air, their vibrant energy warming the Fire Man’s soul. Distracted by their beauty, he almost missed the end of the journey, as the stairs gave way to a single landing and did not go further. The Chancellor turned to him:

“Lewis, I’m going to trust you now with the Republic’s most vital secret. The very foundation of our glorious nation. I hope you realise the honour which is bestowed on you.”

“Of course, Chancellor”, the Fire Man replied, struggling to maintain his calm composure. The Chancellor nodded, pulling a set of keys free from his pocket. His hands were trembling and so did his voice as he declared:

“Hold your tongue. Don’t speak unless spoken to. If you abide by her rules, Lewis, she’ll give you power as you’ve never dreamed of.”

_She?_

The Fire Man stared, gobsmacked, at the plain door still locked in front of them. What – Who – was waiting for them behind it?

He swallowed heavily as the Chancellor put the key in the lock.

Turned it.

A golden light suddenly spilled on the floor. Seconds later, an eerie voice, which seemed to come from all directions, greeted them.

“Welcome, gentlemen, in my kingdom.”


	12. Chapter 12

MOLLY

As soon as I close my room’s door behind me, I let out a tremendous sigh of relief. The journey back to Cohn Island was nothing short of a pure torture. All the time I spent on the boat’s deck, crushed up again between my parents and the other passengers, I didn’t dare removing my hand from the place just over my belly. I could feel under my fingertips the worn edges of the Book’s cover. I was so afraid it would disappear again I almost cried as we walked back to the quay, where the boats were awaiting us.

It didn’t help that nearly everyone seemed contaminated by a raucous mirth, laughing and talking out loud.

As if they haven’t watched a woman burning alive moments ago.

As if they were all put under some spell I couldn’t perceive and even less understand.

I still don’t understand.

A light knock at my door makes me startle. I yelp with fright as I see the door’s handle being pulled down. Fortunately, the person on the other side stops just before seeing my face.

“Miss?”

Berenice.

She would help me getting undressed and ready for bed. In growing panic, I look around, searching for some place in which to hide the Book.

“Wait!” I order. “Wait a minute!”

In my agitation, I completely forget that I’ll be completely unable to undo the small buttons running from my neck to my waist at the back of my dress, without speaking of unlacing my bodice. The moment I realise all this, I know I’m lost. Berenice will notice the Book’s presence, she will go to Mother and…

“Oh, please, please, move!”

I have barely become aware that I’m pleading with the Book to disappear again – not the craziest thing I’ve done today, all things considered – when It suddenly obeys. I gasp aloud, ignoring Berenice uttering again my name, looking for the place where It might appear again.

It won’t escape again, won’t it?

A gasp of tangible relief comes out of my mouth as I see It popping up on my bedside table, as if It has never left the room.

“Miss Molly?”

“Yes, please, come in!”

In my joy, I don’t look up as my maid comes in my room.

“Sorry to have made you wait…”

“That’s nothing, Miss.”

I catch sight of her face and stop speaking.

She looks a fright – face even whiter than before, red-rimmed eyes and her whole countenance is betraying her abject misery.

She reaches out for the dress’ buttons, hiding from my gaze. I can feel her fingers trembling as she struggles to undo them.

“Is something the matter?” I finally ask, breaking the heavy silence between us.

I hear her sharp intake of breath. Her tremulous voice contrasts with her own words as she replies: “Nothing at all, Miss.”

Under other circumstances, I would have feigned to believe her and stayed still till she has finished. But today’s events seem to have broken something inside me. A barrier, a dam and now I don’t know how to go back as it was before. I don’t even know if I want to. That’s why I turn around and face Berenice, who is looking up at me, completely confused.

“Why don’t you tell me the truth?” I softly ask. “I can tell you’re sad, you’ve been sad for several days now and… I would like to know what’s going on.”

It’s true in more way than one, but of course, Berenice isn’t able to perceive it. Her eyes widen before an expression I’ve seldom seen on her features spreads across her face – a firm determination, which makes her clench her jaw and raise a bit her chin.

“I’ve told you before, Miss Molly. Nothing is going on.”

We stand looking at each other in silence. I can feel my resolve crumbling before her stubbornness.

“Please turn around, miss, so I can finish undressing you and getting you ready for the night.”

I comply immediately. The last rays of sunshine finally breaking out from under the clouds fall on the Book’s cover, casting a pale glow on the worn leather.

You owe me answers, I think as I gaze at it.

I’m putting on my night dress in complete silence as Berenice is carefully folding the black dress I wore before putting it away in the laundry basket. She’s getting ready to leave, walking back to the door. Therefore, I startle a bit when she abruptly stops in her tracks and asks without looking at me.

“If I may, Miss Molly… Would you please tell me what happened at Stone Island?”

She must figure out the extraordinary nature of her request – after all, today’s events will be splashed across the front page of _Cohn’s voice_ and shouted ad nauseam by the newsboys’ shrill voice in the whole city tomorrow morning – because she goes on:

“I’ve heard they have arrested two persons for the murder of the Chancellor’s daughter and…”

She turns her head a little in my direction, just enough for me to glimpse the devastating anguish in her gaze.

“Please,” she whispers and this, more than anything else, decides me.

“I don’t know what happened to doctor Willis. I’ve heard he will be sent back to Stonewall awaiting his trial but that’s just a rumour.”

I swallow hard as I realise I will have to speak out loud about the young woman and what she has endured.

“There was… a young woman. I think it’s his servant but I didn’t catch her name.”

Berenice seems to hang on my words.

“She…”

In my mind’s eye I see her again. Her bland expression, the way she appeared to wake up from whichever nightmare she was lost in only to face the pyre’s flames.

The way she looked at me.

“They burned her, didn’t they?”

Unable to answer out loud, I give a stiff nod.

I would like to ask her why she seems so concerned about the other woman’s fate – did she know her? – but I don’t trust my voice.

Berenice lets out a long breath.

“Thank you, Miss Molly. I wish you the good night.”

I watch her disappearing in the corridor, her statement still playing in my head “ _They burned her, didn’t they?_ ”.

* * *

 

For a moment, I stand there, hesitating. Should I go against everything I’ve been taught about servants and social status and try to find Berenice and figure out what’s going on with her, why she’s asking about the young woman I’ve watched being burnt alive? If I believed she might answer me and – even bigger “if” – if we could find some place where to discuss it all quietly, away from any eavesdropper… I click my tongue in annoyance. I should have held her back when I had the chance.

But then I remember the look on her face, this anguish she took so much pain to hide, her stubborn refusal to tell me what was wrong with her when I questioned her.

No. I couldn’t make her confide in me if she wasn’t willing to do so. I wouldn’t coerce her into obeying me. Not in that regard.

Not after what I’ve seen.

It wouldn’t be right.

And this growing instinct inside me, this voice that I can hear getting louder and clearer excites me as much as it troubles my mind. It makes me afraid. Because, slowly but surely, I find myself drifting away from the path everyone advises me to follow.

My parents. Miss Laurel. The girls at school. Even the Chancellor today, standing on the platform at Stone Island.

And it all started with the Book.

I finally yield to the temptation to turn my head in Its direction.

It hasn’t moved away since It had left me. Laying down there on my bedside table so inconspicuously it doesn’t even stand out from all my belongings.

And yet. The more I look at it, the stronger I can feel Its call. Focusing my attention on Its cover and making me wonder what new things I might learn if I opened it. I don’t fully realise I’m getting up and turning the key in my door’s lock before coming back to my bed, sitting on the feather-soft duvet and taking the Book in my hands. I’m deliberately ignoring all the sirens and warning bells in my mind, all the signals my body is sending me – my palms getting moist, my heart thundering in my chest or the flush on my face.

It’s like I’m at Grandma’s house all over again.

I simply _have to_ know.

* * *

 

As soon as I open the Book, I spot them.

“ _Hello, Molly_.”

It was waiting for me. Warmth spreads across my chest as I rummage a bit in the table’s drawer, looking for the pencil I’ve hidden there and hasten to reply, not even growing annoyed with my lopsided letters.

“ _Hello_.”

“ _You’ve got questions_.”

It’s not even a question. The Book has apparently decided not to beat around the bush. I like it.

“ _Yes_ ,” I answer. And the first ones come so naturally to my fingers I don’t even dither over writing them down. “ _What happened today? Why did you call me for help?”_

The Book takes a moment to reply, as if It was pondering on the best way to answer me.

“ _Before telling you this, I have to warn you, Molly. You may not be aware of it, but you’re currently standing at the crossroads. Either you back off and I will disappear forever from your life, leaving you alone and in peace…”_

I frown. I don’t want that, I know that instinctively.

 _“… Or I give you the truth. But beware, Molly. It will be dangerous for you to know it. Even if you don’t speak a word of what I’m going to confide in you to anyone, you will think of it continuously. Your life will never be the same and you might wish afterwards that I’ve never spoken to you. If you decide to go on, there’s no turning back_.”

The last word has not even finished to appear that I furiously scribble, feeling anger spiking within me.

“ _It’s all well and good to tell me this now, but you didn’t hesitate earlier calling for my help when I was right in the middle of a furious crowd! Did you hear me calling your name? And afterwards, when you decide to take shelter under my dress?_ ”

My cheeks grow heated as I note that down, but I’m far too furious with the Book to let it intimidate me right now.

“ _Anyone might have seen you! And where would it have left me, heh? Burning at the stake like this servant?”_

I feel quite ill as I realise what I’m writing.

Imagining myself in this young woman’s stead, silent and without any reaction, being led down to my death without even lifting a finger to save myself… It’s pure blasphemy. If Mother could read my mind right now…

But deep down, I know it’s the truth. I was as much in danger before than I am now.

I should feel afraid, paralysed with fear even.

The curiosity – the need to know – overcomes everything though.

“ _You’re right,”_ the Book replies “ _and I’m deeply sorry to have put you at risk like that. Believe me, Molly, if I could have found another way to resist being lured into that trap, I would have done it. But I found myself already too fond of you. I’m too close, too strongly bonded to you. I couldn’t do otherwise!”_

It’s a cry from Its very heart, I don’t doubt it. I mull over this for a moment, the Book remaining silent. In the end, it all comes to three words.

“ _Tell me all_.”

And as I stand there waiting for the Book to spin Its tale, I know I’m already in too deep to back down now.


	13. Chapter 13

MOLLY

“ _Before writing about today’s events, I must first speak of my birth. You see, I was created a very long time ago by a young woman, under the Blood Moon’s eye._ ”

“ _Like the one rising now in the sky?_ ”

“ _The very one. You see, that young woman was as desperate as the servant burnt alive today. She had been stripped of everything – her lover, her future, her freedom, even the very magic flowing in her veins_. _You might find it surprising to learn that at that time, it was quite well known that while men were ruling and commanding, they couldn’t do that without the woman working behind the scene. Magic was an art passed from mother to daughter and each of them swore to serve faithfully the leader of men. In return, they consulted them and heeded their advice._ ”

I’m not surprised.

I’m flabbergasted.

“ _Wait_!” I write, desperate to get a word in edgewise. “ _How comes the Father Above allows the women to have such power? I thought we were deemed too weak and impure in His eyes!”_

“ _Oh, Molly… The Father Above had never been but an invention from the Republic’s rulers to justify their own predominance. The man called Cohn you revered had never even existed._ ”

I stare at these words, so sure I’m about to die, struck from above by the Father Above’s wrath that my breath catches in my throat. I only release it when I begin to feel light-headed.

“ _I don’t believe you_ ,” I reply a bit reluctantly.

“ _I know,”_ the Book simply says. “ _It’s quite normal, after all, for someone like you, who has been taught her whole life to smile and not to think about what was going on under her very nose, because in the end, everything would be all right._ ”

That quote from the speech I hear every night on my ear pods leaves me as annoyed with myself as with the Book.

“ _I’m not making a mock of you, Molly, nor am I laughing at you. I know all too well what you’re struggling with at this very moment. I’m about to turn your world upside down. It’s only the start. Remember, you gave me your approval to do so._ ”

And before I can react, it goes on:

“ _There’s no god. There’s only magic in this world – a wild, untamed flow, fueled by men and women like you. Your energy, your ideas, your imagination, it all cast a light so bright, it literally creates Sparks which feed the magic used by your leader_.”

“ _You mean… The Chancellor_?” I ask hesitatingly.

“ _Not really. The Chancellor is only a puppet on a string, manipulated by someone much more powerful than him_.”

I’m reminded of the man I saw only a few hours ago, speaking with calm and authority, inspiring all the noble gents and ladies all around me, putting them all under his spell.

As if It could read my mind, the Book pursues:

“ _Don’t be mistaken. What you noticed was nothing else than the Sparks affecting people, working upon their hearts, bodies and souls. Because, you see, magic should be free and used by everyone, but it isn’t. Its wings had been broken a long time ago, its Sparks being ruthlessly drawn from everybody and flowing directly into the hands of a single person_.”

“ _The same person who stripped the woman who created you of everything?_ ” I ask, trying to go back to Its tale.

“ _Exactly. You see, my creator was destined to be the next leader’s counsellor, helping and assisting him. But she fell in love with someone who was forbidden to her or to any woman from the Republic – a sailor from the Sikelian Empire. Standing up to her mother’s wishes, she wanted to elope with him and to build a future together in his country. But before she could act upon it, her mother found out. She was a powerful witch and her anger made her doubly so. At the thought that her own child could disobey her and take her magic abroad, where she couldn’t follow, she became enraged. She punished her brutally, taking off everything her daughter holds dear. Her lover; Her freedom; Her very magic. Or so she thought. She called her child “bruja”. Impure. Misfit. “You deserve to die”, she said; She spat on her and finally departed from Stone Island, quite sure her deed had been brilliantly accomplished_.”

Stone Island.

A shiver ran down my spine.

If the Book is to be believed, I have walked today on the very earth where it all happened. It’s mind-boggling.

“ _But, for the witch – a honorary title bestowed upon women having magic at their disposal – it wasn’t enough to punish her daughter. “What one nearly did, others could do it too,” she thought. And she started to fear for the future. She would die, sooner or later, and then who would help their leader? Who might be trusted to give sound advice? She was despairing till she came across a definite solution – cheating death. To ensure that her life would be extended way beyond its natural end however, her own magic wasn’t sufficient. It had to be drained from other people. And so, she created the Curse.”_

My hand is trembling as I ask:

“ _The Curse? What is it?”_

“ _It takes various forms according to the people it affects. For the servants, for instance, it works only on their minds, putting it into a drowsy obedience, stopping it from thinking of their condition so that they will never get the temptation to rebel against the gentry. For the ladies and gents of the Red District, it painfully amplify their desires and basic urges, which implies they’re never really satisfied till they have sex with their clients_. _All the energy stolen this way, thanks to the Curse, sustains the magic which in turn flows to her.”_

I swallow hard, terrifying half-formed thoughts suddenly popping into my mind.

“ _The most severe form, however, is for women like you, born in the gentry_ ,” the Book writes.

I swallow hard as I scribble:

_“How so?”_

“ _It’s a triple curse._ _One on your mind. A second on your body. And the final one on your sex.”_

I’m not quick enough to smother the shocked gasp out of my mouth.

A long moment passes before I find the courage to write back:

“ _I don’t understand_.”

“ _I know. It’s hard to take it all in. You may find it easier to grasp it if you learn it from someone else. Someone who might have been close to you if you both had been given this opportunity._ ”

A ripple appears on the paper, as if it has suddenly morphed into water. I give a cry of surprise, letting go of the Book, which falls open on the bed duvet. It seems to fall prey to a strange force, resisting in vain – pages flutter along as scared birds taking flight, paper crinkling, a raspy sound echoing in my room.

I hear myself begging “Stop! Stop it, please!” but the Book is not listening.

Suddenly, sticking out from the paper, a form arises.

A pair of lips.

Opening on a mouth.

And before I can blink, a whole face is emerging.

The woman – there’s no doubt about it – seems to be alive and breathing, even though her whole being is composed of the same paper I was writing on a moment ago. Her face is as white as the Book’s pages, it is unlike anything I’ve seen before and yet she seems familiar. Something in her eyes, in the expression spreading across her features…

“Hello Molly.”

A whisper, faint yet perfectly audible.

I sit frozen, barely daring to breathe.

A hint of mischief glints in her gaze, which has become as dark as the words on paper.

“You don’t greet your Grandma?”

* * *

 

Grandma.

Grandma who died a week ago.

Even as dazzled as I am now, I cannot help noticing the physical likeness between her and Father – the dark gaze, the playful smile, the nervous twitch in their expression as they’re about to speak. I can’t literally believe it.

I make a conscious effort to clear my throat:

“H… Hello. Who are you? I mean, how can we talk to each other even though…?”

“I’m dead?” Grandma finishes my sentence for me, without flinching. Well, it wasn’t really a coincidence for the Book to find Itself in my house at the time you finally set foot in my humble abode.”

The guilt I’ve felt whenever I’ve thought about Grandma’s loneliness engulfs me back. It must show on my face since Grandma lets out a light huff of laughter:

“Don’t fret over it, Molly. I’ve always known that the fact we’ve never seen each other when I was alive is not due to any decision from your part. Women have so little power in these matters.”

I nod automatically, still amazed by her appearance.

“As for my involvement with the Book, which constitutes my only legacy…”

Devastating sadness casts its shadow on her features. It only lasts the time of a heartbeat, but I feel my throat going tight.

“It all comes back to the time I met your grandfather. It happened at Aden’s market, where I was selling with my mother flowers and other plants. That handsome man came one day to buy some seeds to bring back in the Republic, as his stay in the Empire was coming to an end…”

“The Empire?” I repeat before flushing at my rudeness. “Sorry, I didn’t want to interrupt but…”

“Yes, child. I was born and raised in the Sikelian Empire. Then I fell in love with your grandfather and when he proposed marriage to me, I accepted and followed him here.”

I stare at her, open-mouthed.

The Sikelian Empire, just over the Northern Straits.

I never thought a part of my family was coming from it.

“I was young and passionately in love,” Grandma goes on. “I would have followed him to earth’s end if he had asked me to. On the boat which brought me here, I was dreaming of our house and our future children. I was already planning how to give them the best possible education, how to help my husband. How to find work in this society I didn’t know. I never believed it wasn’t to happen.”

“And… what happened?” I’m almost too afraid to ask.

“We arrived at Cohn Island. The last thing I remembered my future husband was leading me to a big building on the top of which a golden dome was shining.”

I recognize it immediately – the Chancellor’s house.

“He said we had to fill in some papers for our marriage. The next thing I knew… I was Shackled.”

“Shackled?” I repeat, dread welling up inside me.

Her paper face becomes tense, grief and anger clenching her jaw.

“It’s hard to explain. My mind wasn’t my own anymore. As if someone has broken into it and invaded it, using it for his own purpose. Most of the time, I wasn’t even aware of it. I would sit down at table, putting my newest knitting work beside me, ready to finish it. And then I would stand still, staring at nothing, my thoughts a happy, satisfied void. Next time I would look up, I’ve been sitting here for hours.”

Resentment underlined her every word.

“At other times, though… I don’t know why – maybe because I hadn’t been born with the Curse and my mind rebelled against it without ever managing to break it – I knew what had been done to me. I knew I’ve lost my freedom to think, to move – I was so tired all the time, getting up only when the sun was high in the sky! – to feel pleasure too. I ought not to tell you this, you’re still so young but at the same time…”

She looks at me with such determination I become very afraid of what she’s going to tell me.

“I was only able to find gratification – sexually, I mean – when he was penetrating me.”

I feel myself flushing so hard I’m tempted to get beneath my bed and not to come out any time soon. But something holds me back. Maybe this damned curiosity I never managed to get rid of. I don’t know the first thing about physical contact between man and woman. Miss Laurel at school always told us that when we would be married, our husbands knew what to do and we just had to follow them.

“And… that’s not normal?” I croak.

“No, Molly. It’s not,” she softly replies. “Our bodies have been made so that we could feel pleasure by ourselves. Unless someone deprived us of this possibility for her own gain.”

I’m reminded of the Book’s story about the witch, her desire for immortality and the curse she devised for this purpose.

“With time, my mind became so fractured, the strain on it grew so hard because of the Shackles I’ve been put in, I lost all sense of reality. One moment, I was perfectly happy, sitting with my husband and my children, the next, I remembered where I was coming from and what I’ve endured. Anger and resentment overwhelmed me. I became mad, spitting out and hurling insults at anyone who would come near me. One day, I even hit my husband. The day after that, I found myself sleeping alone, my hand and feet bound together with a rope. My husband turned away from me, taking mistresses and visiting the Red District at night. My children grew afraid of me, whispering behind my back how mad I was. When my husband died, I was sent to Blue Island and the house you visited a few days ago. I was alone till I died.”

Her somber expression is suddenly replaced with a smile – wistful but not devoid of any happiness.

“No, it’s not true. I wasn’t alone – the Book was there. And even in my state of mind, I recognized It and welcomed It into my home.”

“How did you meet It?”

“The same way you did. It appeared out of nowhere one day in my home and started talking to me. I wrote back, I was so lonely at that time! It told me It had sensed my despair and wanted to help me. To set me free. It knew a way. But… I didn’t dare accepting it. I wasn’t able to…”

Heart-breaking regret fills her face. It’s hard not to look away.

“I died alone and deeply unhappy, Molly. Only death freed me from my Shackles. Do not make the same mistake. You’re no longer a child, I managed at least to pass my rebellious tendency to you and you have the Book with you now. Accept what will be offered to you.”

“Offered? It hasn’t offered me anything…”

“Yet.”

Her voice grows deeper, stronger. It’s no longer a whisper, it seems to come from several mouths at the same time, various accents and intonations mixing together in the flow.

“You can break the curse, Molly, if you want. It will be dangerous, risky. It will put you into danger. You might die for it as dozens have already done before you. You have to choose – between a cursed existence and the challenge awaiting you.”

“But… I don’t know how!” I cry, already panicking.

“I can help you.”

That’s the Book’s voice coming out of Grandma’s mouth.

“I will give you one month of total freedom. Thirty days without any Curse of any kind upon you. You will be free.”

It’s so tempting. But I’m not foolish enough to jump on it without being aware there’s always a price to pay in the end.

“What should I do in return?”

“Nothing,” the Book says. “I shall give it to you freely. And during this time, you will decide whether you prefer living with the same Shackles your Grandma endured all her existence or whether this freedom is worth fighting for.”

His next words seem to be whispered right in my ear, coiling round my heart and nesting there.

“You have to choose.”


	14. Chapter 14

THE FIRE MAN

The Blood Moon was shining high in the night sky. The Fire Man ignored it with ease – to think that before, he would have been afraid of it. Now…

He pulled his hand from his pocket, raised it until his fingers met the precious phial hanging on the chain around his neck.

The Spark inside was glittering in the darkness.

Its glow stronger with every passing moment – every _sacrifice_ offered.

_She_ had been clear in that regard.

“You will have to feed it. Otherwise, it won’t work and I won’t tolerate that unforgivable waste, do you hear me?”

He had heard. He had promised. He had knelt while she was putting the chain round his neck.

“Feed it, Fire Man. And it will lead you straight to what you’re seeking.”

The Book. The Book which certainly believed Itself safe because It had found another victim – another gullible, naïve young girl to fool.

No matter. It will soon know the wrath of the fire.

“Surround the neighbourhood,” he ordered his men. “Break into their houses. Collect every scrap of paper you will find inside. Those rats have certainly amassed it right under our noses.”

If there was one thing upon which he could count when entering the part of the city where the Sikelian immigrants prefer to establish their houses and other lodgings, it was the presence of paper inside the walls. Strictly forbidden under the Republic’s laws but those cockroaches never hesitated to circumvent the rules.

And which better fuel to offer to the invaluable Spark whose phial was resting against his chest?

As his men swiftly obeyed him, darting in the streets and filthy back alleys of the area, the Fire Man took a moment to bring up at eye level the gift bestowed upon him. In the dark, the Spark revealed all its beauty. A being of pure magic, fluttering its wings, eager to flush out its target. A rare smile creased up the Fire Man’s lips.

“Soon, my love,” he whispered.

As if it could hear him, the Spark jumped up and down its glass prison.

The Fire Man let go of the chain. He could hear the first rumours caused by his men’s raid – indignant cries, shocked exclamations.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

“You have no right to…”

Children brutally woken up were crying in their mothers’ arms, men were trying to protect their meager belongings. He let out a sigh. Humanity in all its vileness and stubborn avarice. In its disobedience, also – and soon enough, meaty thumps and women’s teary cries reached his ears.

They never listened. Never understood.

If it only depended on him, he would never have accepted the entry of Sikelian citizens and their families into the Republic’s territory. Filthy heretics, the whole lot of them. But the politicians sang another tune, praising the advantages of trade relationships with the Sikelian Empire, now that war was over.

They didn’t care for the threat posed by those rats – bringing with them their traditions, their natural insubordination and disrespect for the Republic which so generously welcomed them. They weren’t here to see the books and other forbidden paper being collected by his men and thrown on the ground in a single pile.

They didn’t even know the Book existed.

“Fools, the lot of them!” he growled under his breath.

“Sir!”

The Fire Man turned his head just in time to see one of his men walking to him with a child – a young girl – in tow. She was crying, and as the ferocious little thing she already was – her wild nature asserting itself - she was trying to free herself from the soldier’s grip.

“What?” he barked.

“I beg your pardon, Sir, but the missus over here… Ow!”

The blow landed hard on the young girl’s cheek.

“Don’t try that again!”

An empty threat if he had ever heard one, but the child didn’t know this. She was staring at the officer, tears of hatred in her dark eyes.

“She refused to part from this,” the man explained.

The Fire Man narrowed his eyes. The child was clutching against her chest a page, undoubtedly ripped from some book.

“We’ve tried to persuade her to give it up, but she’s worse than a stubborn mule, this one!”

It explained the girl’s bloody lip and the bruises already blooming on her face.

He took a step forward.

“Give it to me,” he ordered.

The child didn’t answer. She just stared at him, silently defying him. Challenging him. He waited a few seconds.

Getting up, he acted swiftly. With one hand, he grasped the girl’s back of the neck in his hand before she ever had the time to utter a sound. With the other, he called the flames, which readily raised to his call, already devouring the pile of books spread on the ground.

He lifted the child up off the ground. She started to squeal, her dirty feet kicking uselessly around.

One, two steps. And when he was close enough, he threw her among the flames.

Her scream rebounded off the nearby walls, haunting the streets and back alleys.

All the while, the Fire Man stroked the glass phial.

And the glow of the Spark inside brightened all the more.


	15. Chapter 15

MOLLY

 

“Turn around, darling. Oh yes, it’s obvious this one fits you way better!”

“I told you so, Madam,” Mrs Hammond, the shop owner, declares in a very satisfied tone. “This model is perfectly adapted for ladies who are a bit on the plump side.”

She reaches out around my waist, softly patting my stomach.

“Two days before the Cunninghams’ ball, love, it might be time to go without dessert, heh?”

I force myself to smile at her even though I would want nothing less than scream at the old harpy and wipe the smug smile off her face. But I can’t do such a thing. A young, nice, well-behaved lady like myself is not supposed to show any anger.

Smile. Be calm. Everything will be all right.

I haven’t put my ear pods since Grandma appeared in my room, three days before.

I haven’t opened the Book either.

Truth is, I don’t know what to do.

The bell above the shop door chimes to announce a new client and Mrs Hammond leaves us in order to greet her. Or rather them – a young woman whose pregnancy is starting to show and an older woman that I suppose is her mother.

“How do you find it, Molly, dear?” my own mother asks. She examines the back of the dress I’ve put on, a palest pink trimmed with lace and whose neck discreetly emphasizes my bosom “my greatest asset” according to Mrs Hammond.

“I wonder if we tighten a bit the waist…”

“I don’t think so, Mother,” I absentmindedly reply.

At the other end of the shop, I hear snatches of the discussion going on between Mrs Hammond and her new clients.

“Look, there’s even a very discreet opening to nurse your baby if you can’t afford a nurse… And after the delivery, we have this model…”

“It’s quite tight.”

 “The best way to show you’ve recovered a flattering silhouette!”

Will I ever be in this young woman’s shoes, pregnant with my first child? Having to listen to this hateful woman, giving freely her recommendations about my weight and my figure? And when I come back to my house, will I find it there my husband ready to greet me or will he be absent, lost in the Red District’s pleasures as my grandfather before him?

A painful pang echoes in my heart as I remember Stuart at Stone Island, mouthing “I love you” to another man.

I close my eyes and before me appears the Book.

_You will decide whether you prefer living with the same Shackles your Grandma endured all her existence or whether this freedom is worth fighting for._

_You have to choose, Molly._

What am I going to do?

* * *

 

Back in my room this evening after a light supper – “Don’t eat so much, Molly, remember what the shop owner said!” – I just want to lie down on my bed and wait for sleep. I haven’t yet come across Berenice since our last discussion and I wonder how she’s faring. At the very least, if she wanted to tell me what’s wrong with her, it would be a nice distraction from the question popping up in my mind at all times.

_What will you choose?_

_What will you decide?_

I let out a great sigh.

I don’t know.

On one hand, I dearly want to learn what this Curse is about, how it’s affecting my daily life. The freedom the Book promised me tickles my curiosity.

On the other hand…

_It will put you in danger._

I was already so scared coming back from Stone Island, the Book hidden under the fabric of my dress; How am I ever going to endure the risk of someone discovering what I’ve done if I accept the Book’s offer?

It’s pure madness.

And yet.

All thoughts of sleep fly away as I sit down on my bed, open the drawer where I’ve put the Book three days ago. It has stayed there and Its mere presence gives me such a thrill of pleasure I can’t stop smiling.

“ _Tell me_ ,” I painstakingly write down, “ _did you offer what you told me before to anyone to whom you appear?_ ”

“ _No. And even when I give them the choice, not everyone accepts it. In fact, the last person I spoke to before you meet me turned me down_.”

I feel only slightly better, knowing this.

“ _Was this person too afraid of the danger you mentioned?”_

“ _Yes. She didn’t dare taking me on my offer. She knew she couldn’t put on the act required to let her family believe she was still the same. And so, she refused_.”

I can’t stop myself asking:

“ _Who was she?”_

“ _Her name was Clara. You attended her funeral_.”

I remained stunned, staring at this sentence.

Clara.

I never even knew her name.

“ _You mean the Chancellor’s daughter_ ,” I hasten to scribble even though I know the answer. “ _Were you there when she…”_

I pause, hesitant about asking what happened in her case.

“ _Yes. And no, to answer you, I wasn’t there. She sent me away. She was warned her secret has been discovered and she didn’t want me to be put at risk._ ”

Her secret? Which one? The fact she was talking to the Book or… ?

That’s when I suddenly hear a slight scratch against my door.

My heart jumps in my throat as I hastily closed the Book and put it away in the still half-open drawer. I remain still, waiting to see who’s going to knock and enter.

But no one moves on the other side and only silence answers me when I finally say:

“Who’s there?”

I take my courage in both hands and tip toe to the door before opening it in one go.

All in vain. There’s no one on my threshold or in the corridor. I’m about to close it again, cursing me for being so easily afraid, when I spot something on the floor. I bend down and pick it up – it’s a small posy. Quite similar in fact to the one I received only a few days ago – a small circle of daisies tied together with a length of twine and in its heart, a single red rose. But this time, a slice of paper has been cleverly put inside, tied to the stem of the rose. I carefully pull it free.

What has been scribbled inside makes me blush to the roots of my hair.

“From the lover who dares not speak his name.”

* * *

 

_Night of the Blood Moon_

“Oh my… Molly, you look amazing!”

Mother is staring at my reflection in the mirror, hands joined in front of her face, eyes shining with both excitement and some obscure longing I’m sure I haven’t seen yet in her gaze. I shot her a weak smile before glancing again at the Molly in the mirror.

From the white pearls gleaming around her neck to the shoes hidden beneath her underskirt and whose colour matches the dress’, every little detail helps to turn little, ordinary me into a splendid, utterly perfect creature.

It’s everything I didn’t know I wanted.

“Molly? Are you not satisfied? Do you want to change something?” Mother anxiously asks.

“No,” I immediately reply, smoothing out my features. “As you said, it’s amazing. They’ve done a wonderful job,” I add, sparing a grateful thought to the women who have worked on me all afternoon. I’m sure they weren’t the only ones to do so today. The whole island is buzzing with excitement, harassed-looking coachmen and guards accompanying wives and daughters in their frenetic trips to the shops, looking for some last-minute brilliant trinkets to add to their outfits. Everyone and his dog is talking about the ball, rumours flying about how the Cunninghams renovated their manor last spring, who will be chosen by the lovely Stuart – the only one of their children still unmarried – which waltzes will be played, which kind of food will be served. There’s even speculation, whispered in breathless voices, about the Sikelian ambassador making an appearance, the _Cohn’s Voice_ newsboys gleefully spreading the word.

Mother appears to be lost in her contemplation, still staring at the mirror so I discreetly clear my throat.

“It’s getting late, Mother. You should get dressed as well.”

She gives me such a soft smile a tightness appears in my throat.

“I know, Molly dear… Just let me look at you a bit more, will you? It’s not every day that a mother gets the opportunity to see the beautiful young woman her daughter has become!”

She’s trembling a little as she reaches out, taking my hand in hers and gently leading me to the middle of the room, as if she were some gentleman asking me for a dance. The glow of pride and admiration on her features, the wide smile on her lips, the tears I see welling up in her eyes… I can’t stand it. I look away.

The Book, the freedom offered, even the posy coming out of nowhere… It’s too much. I feel like I’ve been caught in the middle of a web and I can’t free myself.

And at the same time, endless questions are popping up in my mind, requiring answers I don’t know how or where to find. Or am I lying to myself, just too afraid to take a definite step in this quest?

* * *

 

I thank with a smile the courteous guard who helps me going up into the carriage. I meet his gaze filled with admiration; I feel myself blushing and I hasten to sit down on the bench seat, filled with a warm lining. Father, who was already seated, glances up from the document he’s reading, examines me from head to toe. A slow smile of approval is creasing his lips and I feel a bit better, basking in the glow of his pride.

“You’re wonderful, my love,” he whispers, making me duck my head in happy confusion and eliciting a sob from Mother, who rummages in her bag looking for a handkerchief.

“Here, darling, take mine,” he gently teases her, pulling free the square of silk decorating his breast pocket and giving it to her.

“Oh, Richard! You know that’s not fit for it…” she interrupts herself as he starts laughing – a sound I haven’t heard from him since our journey to Stone Island. As my parents are drawn in one of their affectionate quarrels, I glance up through the window at the night sky.

At the huge Blood Moon hanging over us all, its red gaze fixed upon us.

_I was created a very long time ago by a young woman, under the Blood Moon’s eye…_

A shiver runs down my spine. Even now I can’t seem to escape the Book.

* * *

 

“Dear Sir, I’m so very pleased to welcome you and your family in our home.”

No servant’s call to announce our presence to all for us. Instead, we’re personally greeted, as soon as we get out of our carriage, by the master of the house himself. Cunningham Senior has put on his best frock coat, making him taller and slimmer than he already is. He pretends not to notice the looks of open curiosity, bordering on jealousy and envy, that the other guests walking up the stairs to the manor’s entrance are shooting us right now. His smile is as oily as his voice as he looks at me, after having air kissed Mother’s hand, and remarks:

“Miss O’Hare, it’s such a delight to see you! I hope you’ll thoroughly enjoy our little feast… Don’t we, dearest?” he asks his wife, not so subtly giving her a nudge. She startles, as if she was drawn from some open-eyed dream. Her gaze doesn’t seem to be able to focus on my face.

“Of course, dearest. Very welcome,” she replies in a wavering tone, a whiff of some sharp, aggressive smell wafting over me at that moment. I merely drop a curtsey. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Mother looking askance at Mrs Cunningham before Father drops a word in her ear. Mr. Cunningham chooses that moment to draw closer to me, his hand an unwelcome presence hovering in my back.

“Stuart is waiting for you inside, my dear. He can’t wait to meet you properly!”

My heart starts thudding in my chest and I hope against all odds the blush on my face is not as strong as I fear.

* * *

 

The “little feast” Mr. Cunningham was speaking of reveals itself to be a laughable understatement. I feel dizzy watching the tasteful and rich decoration having invaded the manor’s entrance. The countless flames of the lit candelabra and chandeliers are reflected on the shiny checkered floor. A silent, impeccably dressed army of manservants and maids is already waiting on us, one to take our cloaks, another to hand out bubbly drinks in tall glasses which I can guess are in crystal. The first canapé I taste melts on my tongue. While Father disappears in the wake of Mr. Cunningham, both laughing together as if they were best friends, I follow Mother, already busy to greet and air kiss other guests. They exchange knowing glances and bright smiles, they congratulate me on my dress or my “rosy complexion”, they exclaim at the liveliness of music which can already be heard here or confide in hushed voices the latest rumours.

I smile, I nod, I keep up the appearance expected from a properly raised young lady.

A part of me doesn’t really care. I am living a dream and I don’t want to wake up. I want to slip into the ballroom, join the shiny, sophisticated crowd which is waltzing its way on the floor and dance till my feet ache in my shoes. A wild energy is thrumming in my veins, I have to stop myself from drumming my fingers against a seam of my dress to the lively rhythm of the violins to the point it almost becomes painful. I glance in growing despair at Mother, still ensnared in the web of pointless discussions and idle chitchat, who doesn’t seem keen on leaving the circle of her acquaintances. I’m trying to communicate silently to her the desire roaring in my heart to enter the room where, if his father’s words can be trusted, Stuart is already waiting for me…

“Miss O’Hare?”

It’s not the discreet whisper of a servant; It’s a soft, cultured voice, which contains however a steely hint, as if his owner was used to be obeyed. An abrupt silence falls on the people near me as I turn round.

Oh.

I meet his gaze first – clear eyes, already focused on me as I stare at him.

Time seems to stop.

Because it’s one thing to admire Stuart Cunningham from afar, glancing at him when it’s safe to do so, with little risk to be caught; It’s quite another to have him standing just in front of me, with such little distance as three paces keeping us apart, gazing at you and smiling like… like…

At this moment, I can’t believe what I’ve seen at Stone Island.

I must have been mistaken, there’s no other way.

I’m lost for words, completely put under his spell, barely able to understand what’s going on as he gives me a little bow, a charming grin still on his lips, and asks:

“May I be so bold as to ask you for a dance?”

I hear gasps and exclamations, quickly shushed, all around me. I glance at Mother, not knowing how exactly I must reply. She has that misty-eyed look from earlier and is nodding at me fervently, as if she would want nothing more than a “Yes” from my mouth.

“It’d be my pleasure,” I hear myself replying, wondering how my voice manages to sound so assured while I’m nothing more than a mass of fraying nerves.

He smiles again, as if he wasn’t expecting another answer. As I take his offered arm, I feel the sleeve of his frock brushing my bare skin and I shiver with barely suppressed delight.


	16. Chapter 16

MOLLY

 

The orchestra stops playing as soon as we set foot in the room. The dancing pairs, interrupted in their quick revolving around another, come to an abrupt halt, looking for the source of this disruption. I feel myself turning as red as a robin’s breast while Stuart, with an imperious hand, orders a waltz to be played.

 “I have been told it’s your favourite,” Stuart whispers in confidence to me, as we slowly start dancing.

I do not even recognize the tune, but I nod all the same.

A shiver running down my spine as I become aware that no one else is joining us on the floor. Everyone is watching us instead, standing in a large circle and whispering in his neighbour’s ear. As if they were attending a wedding.

My palms turn clammy as this idea both thrills and nauseates me a little.

Grandma’s story echoes once more in my mind.

_“I was young and passionately in love. I would have followed him to earth’s end if he had asked me to..”_

Stop this, I admonish myself. I’m not my Grandma and Stuart is definitely not like his abusing husband. It’s not the same story. Everything will be all right in the end.

As if he has sensed my bout of nerves, Stuarts delicately squeezes my hand in his.

“Don’t worry. You’re doing fine. You’re very beautiful tonight.”

I glance up at him, ready to thank him for his kind words, but he’s not looking at me. Or rather – he’s not _really_ looking at me. His gaze seems to be set on my right earring, and he’s wearing a faraway expression as if his mind was elsewhere.

Where, exactly?

I falter in my steps. I’m nearly out of rhythm but Stuart strengthens his grip on my waist, a frown marring his delicate features.

“You don’t dance often,” he says before biting his lower lip. “Sorry, it wasn’t very nice. I promise I would improve once we’re married.”

The certainty ringing in his voice is so absolute I’m startled. To my horror, I find myself stammering:

“I… I wasn’t aware you consider me as…”

An expression of pure astonishment is spreading across his perfect face. He’s so beautiful at this moment I could cry with happiness – What on earth possesses me to deliver such a remark?

“As my betrothed?” he finishes for me, a look of annoyance in his gaze. “Well, since your father and mine are concluding right at this moment our marriage contract, I should find this obvious!”

Obvious. As if everyone but me already knew it.

I’m rendered speechless, looking at this handsome boy that I don’t know a single thing about. An uneasy silence falls between us. We’re still dancing together, but there’s no grace, no beauty to it. As if we were trapped in this never-ending waltz.

“You seem displeased at this prospect,” he finally declares. “Am I to understand I don’t find favour with you anymore?”

His voice has morphed into something scathing, which sends a chill down my spine. My heart constricts painfully in my chest and I feel the first sting of tears. I should apologise, blaming me for the nonsense I’ve just uttered and assuring him that I’ve been in love with him since forever.

But then I’m reminded how he looked when I saw him on Stone Island. And what I watch him mouthing afterwards to Willis.

No. I’m not going to apologise.

“We’ve barely talked to each other and…”

“Father first catches sight of Mother at the altar,” he replies automatically, as if he has learned this before by heart. “I can assure you they’re very happy together.”

But that’s not what _I_ want.

I want courting – long discussions, walking side by side, a chaperone behind us. Gazing soulfully at each other, whispering secrets, getting to know each other till I have the feeling I know him like the back of my hand.

And I know some families don’t work like that, but others do. The other girls at school spoke quite freely of the gifts their suitors were offering them – delicate flowers wrapped up in silk, delicious chocolates, small trinkets of fidelity and admiration.

Why would I not be treated in the same way?

Why do I not deserve some romance?

I feel myself starting to quiver with shame and anger.

How dares Father signing any contract without even talking to me about it first? How did I land in such a situation, where everyone except for me seems to know what will happen?

_I will give you one month of total freedom. Thirty days without any Curse of any kind upon you._

Suddenly, I wish to be safely at home, in my room, where the Book awaits my decision.

“What are you thinking?” Stuart’s question draws me back to reality. “At least, if you can think at all…”

The derisive snort echoing at the end of his sentence is somehow the last straw.

“You clearly _weren’t_ thinking when I saw you at Stone Island!”

Stuart goes instantly livid. Under other circumstances, I’d admire the quick play of emotions on his face, but I’m much more horrified by what I just said.

“Sorry, I…”

“What did you just say?” he hisses over me, his enraged gaze locking with mine.

He’s clearly trying to intimidate me, to send me cowering away before him.

At this moment, I forget everything.

I forget I’m dancing with the boy of my dreams in a splendid ballroom, before the very eyes of the Republic’s gentry.

I forget that everything I have desired is within my grasp, that I only have to lower my head and apologise like a proper wife should do and it will come true.

I forget how I was supposed to act and what I am supposed to be.

There’s only me and him.

“I watched you at Stone Island,” I whisper, my gaze locked with his. “I saw you crying when Willis confessed his crime. And I saw you afterwards, when you mouthed _I lo_ …”

He suddenly lets me go with a sharp cry, his face turned ashen. I’m left alone, so destabilized that I nearly fall on my knees on the wooden floor. The music abruptly stops. There’s a flurry of shocked “oooh” and “aaah” but I only have eyes for Stuart, who is watching me back, a deep anguish blooming in his eyes.

He swallows hard, looks around him as if he was expecting someone to run to his help. As no one comes forward, he suddenly turns tail and runs to the nearest door, the crowd of guests drawing quickly aside to let him through.

I stand frozen to the spot.

_Move, move, you can’t stay here!_

I find myself listening for once to the little voice screaming in my head and gathering my skirts in a hand, I run away as fast as I can.

* * *

 

My whole face is burning with embarrassment as I blindly go through the nearest exit, stride across a little terrace filled with people and rush down a flight of stairs leading to the Cunninghams’ large garden. I run through it blindly, not caring one whit about the alleys cut as straight as a die, the enticing smell of roses or the delicate Sikelian lanterns, with their silk globe over the open flame, half-hidden in the foliage of trees. At this moment, though, all which matters to me is to find a good hiding-place and to wait there till Mother finds me.

Mother.

A wave of shame spreads throughout me.

What is she going to think of all this? I imagine her among her friends, her face losing her expression of happiness as she learns what just happened. Tears sting my eyes again and I nearly miss a solitary bench, a large part of which is concealed in the shadows. I collapse on it, instinctively putting my arms around my knees. If the dressmaker Mother has bought the dress from were here, she’d be howling with distress at the sight of this costly fabric being creased and crumpled under my feet. Absurdly, it’s that thought which brings on a surge of grief, pain unfurling in my body. I do not try to resist anymore. I put my forehead on my folded arm and let the tears rolling down my cheeks, snot running from my nose, staining irremediably my dress. I can’t seem to stop, heart-wrenching sobs bruising my throat.

Mother, Father, the dressmaker, the maids… All those people have helped me turning into the princess of the ball and when the time came to carry out my duty, I was rude and snotty and arrogant.

I’ve failed them all. I can’t even imagine how Father and Mother will react. What did I do it? Why? Confronting Stuart, reminding him of what happened at Stone Island…

_Now, at least, you know you didn’t dream it up. It happened. It was real._

I try to remember the words of advice I’ve heard all my life through my ear pods.

_Calm down, calm down, take a deep breath! Everything is going to be all right…_

How can it be, when I’ve so publicly made a botch of everything? Stuart must hate me right now, my parents are going to be so disappointed – I can almost see Father’s angry face, flying into a rage and shouting that I’m nothing but a walking disaster…

“What have we here?”

“A lost little rose?”

“Rather a snotty-faced one!”

There are sniggers and guffaw as the sound of footsteps draws closer. I raise my eyes. Under the red gaze of the Blood Moon, I can distinguish dark frocks and trousers. Before I can blink, I find myself surrounded. They look young, young enough to be Stuart’s companions. Two lanterns are held up, their light blinding me for a second.  

“By the Father Above, she’s a right mess!” an unknown voice says, causing a roar of laughter among his companions. A shiver of fright and disgust runs down my spine. The lantern’s light catches a bottle being passed from hand to hand.

“Do you want me to kiss all better, little girl?” another asks mockingly, coming closer till I can distinguish his red face and smell the stink of alcohol in his breath.

Fear gets its icy claws into me, compelling me to get up, surprising thus the young man who hastily steps back, blinking at me.

“Don’t touch me!” I nearly scream. “Behaving in such a way… You ought to be ashamed of yourselves!”

They all seem taken aback by my resistance, but it only lasts a moment.

 “Oh my, the kitty has some teeth!”

I ball my hands into fists, trying to ignore the taunts volleying back and forth between my attackers.

“Should we see which one of us would be able to tame this cat?” one of them suggests.

“I’m betting my horse I can do it!”

“That nag? You’re a disgrace, Peppers!”

“Leave her alone!”

The roar of indignation makes me jump. The first moment of surprise over though, my attackers raise their lantern and, in its light, I recognize, totally bewildered, who has come to my rescue.

Father’s secretary.

Who I always believed was mute.

His pimply face is flushed but there’s a determination shining in his gaze I’ve never seen before. My gaze is suddenly drawn to the flowers pinned inside his breast pocket. A red rose surrounded by daisies. Identical to the two posies I’ve received.

I cannot smother the small gasp out of my mouth.

“Who is he?”

“Your memory’s already failing, Peppers! That’s the boy of the last Foreign Affairs Secretary, the one who was sent into disgrace for his blunder…”

“Don’t you dare talking about my father…!”

He is cut off by a strong, angry voice:

“What’s going on here?”

“Father!” I can’t help calling out to him. He swiftly strides closer, looking like a hawk inviting himself among the sparrows. My attackers scatter hastily, their mirth replaced with growing unease.

“Sir, I…” my rescuer stammers, only to be met with a harsh rebuff:

“I don not remember giving you the permission to be here, you nitwit! Go back to your Network before I put you in jail!”

The Network? Does it mean that Father’s secretary is… ?

“What’s the meaning of this, Molly? Are you openly cavorting around with men, now that you seem to have snubbed in public your suitor?”

The unfairness of his remark leaves me speechless. It hurts me as well, reminding me of the awful night I’ve just spent. But there’s no pity to expect from Father. His face is a thundercloud.

What is even worse is his soft voice whispering to me:

“You’re such a disappointment.”

 

* * *

 

The ride back home is miserable. Neither Mother or Father is speaking to me, only taking to each other in a hushed voice. I don’t try to overhear them, staring at my hands in my lap. My cheeks are still burning, I don’t dare meeting the eye of anyone as I enter the house. A large part of me is totally numb, as if everything which occurred tonight is a nightmare from which I’m going to wake up. I let Berenice undress me in meek silence. I slip between the sheets, in the cold bed. Darkness engulfs me. Instinctively I reach out for my ear pods, anything to distract me from the storm brewing in my soul.

Calm down, calm down, everything will be…

I throw them away with a cry.

I know that voice. I heard it just a moment ago, when I was in the Cunninghams’ garden.

_Go back to your Network!_

Father’s secretary is none other than the Whisperer, the voice telling me and thousand women quiet, soft words in the dead of the night. I always thought of it as a friend, as someone who was kind and compassionate.

Not someone who was obliged to play a role on Father’s orders.

That betrayal is just the last straw.

I need a friend. A true friend.

Without thinking of it, I reach out for the drawer where the Book is lying, ignoring the angry echoes rising in the stairwell.

“… brought up properly! You only had one job, woman, and you botched it!”

My hand is trembling as I open the Book and hastily jot down:

“ _Set me free. Please._ ”

His answer comes up immediately, as if It was waiting for me to ask It that.

“ _Are you sure, Molly? I told you, it’s dangerous. There’s no coming back._ ”

I let out a mirthless snort. I’ve already destroyed everything. What should I feel scared about this mysterious gift offered to me?

“ _Please_ ,” I write, tears leaving small dots on the paper. “ _Please. I need it._ ”

And it’s completely mad to write such a thing because I don’t really know what “free” means. I just know that if I stay like this, I’m going to go mad.

I’m reminded of the word the original witch used to hurl at her daughter she had so utterly destroyed before.

“ _Bruja_.”

The Book remains silent for a few seconds before replying:

“ _So be it. Be free, Molly O’Hare_.”

I have no time to brace myself for whatever is coming. The words seem to jump off the page, growing taller and bigger, looming in front of me, threatening outlines occupying my whole horizon. I open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes out of my throat. And then the pain hits me right in the heart, setting my whole body alight.

I’m being burnt alive, I have the time to think before slipping into unconsciousness.


	17. Chapter 17

THE FIRE MAN

It was so very vexing, the Fire Man mused, to believe that you were coming close to your goal only to discover most abruptly that something you thought had been dealt with had instead been left unsolved and was still in your way.

Very vexing, indeed.

He tried to contain his rising anger as he asked the small man standing next to him:

“What do you mean by ‘an unexpected complication’? I thought the whole case was closed and that we only had to decide when and how Willis would be executed?”

The Chancellor sitting across the desk didn’t react. His gaze appeared to be unfocused, his face was slack, without any expression and it sent a chill down the Fire Man’s spine.

“As I was telling our illustrious leader…” the small man replied with a smile as oily as his manners.

Spit it out, you lickspittle, the Fire Man thought, getting more annoyed with every passing moment.

“One of our main witnesses – in fact the very one thanks to whom we so successfully identified the main culprit, that servant who was burned at Stone Island – appeared to be somewhat indecisive in her testimony.”

“Don’t tell me that person had made a mistake in identifying her!” the Fire Man growled.

“Oh no, nothing of that importance, be reassured,” the small man protested with an infuriating smile. “She was quite right in that regard. Her indecision rather lies in what the servant was doing when the witness spotted her.”

The Fire Man shot a look at the Chancellor, who was still gazing vacantly into space. He felt the sudden and shocking impulse to reach out and to start shaking him until he came back from wherever he seemed to be lost.

“She first thought,” the small man pursued, “that the servant was finishing polishing Willis’ silver. Remember, she only saw her from behind and…”

“Get to the point!” the Fire Man growled.

“She’s now certain she was writing,” the small man replied, looking at him completely unfazed by his increasing hostility.

“Writing?” the Fire Man repeated, the single word making his mind coming to a halt. “Because that servant _could_ write?”

“So it appeared. Our witness didn’t know that particular fact when we questioned her first about the murder. She has entered Willis’ service rather recently and she was still unaware of the manner his household was running. She only learned that the culprit was literate when the cook revealed it was that servant who was in charge of making the inventory of Willis’ pantry and larder. Since then she has mused over what she had seen and her doubts proved sufficient to come to us again and inform us of the late servant’s skills.”

It was bad.

Very, very bad.

The Fire Man felt a surge of anger at the thought that paper, whether it came in form of the Book or a simple letter, was causing him so many problems. He rubbed his forehead with his fingertips.

In his mind, words written black on white were dancing, mocking him, deriding his abilities in the same way the Blood Moon had done so these last days.

Thank the Father Above that, after last night, it was finally waning.

But words never disappeared so easily.

Only fire could make them melt away, taking them back to the emptiness they should never have left.

“I surmise that letter – if it existed – had not been found, then?”

“Not yet, Fire Man. My men are searching most actively as we are speaking. They are scouring the list of relatives and friends of the late servant. It shouldn’t take us long to find out who had received it.”

He would burn them both himself, the Fire Man decided on the spot. He raised his hand instinctively, clutching the phial where the Spark was still growing. Now that the influence of this dreadful moon was at last decreasing, it would finally be able to spread his wings and lead his temporary owner straight to his target.

Soon, he thought. Soon.

He was so lost in his musings that he startled when the Chancellor’s voice rose in the office:

“You will make sure, Adams, that that mistake would be the last one your department has made in this case. I’m sure I do not have to teach you the disastrous consequences of this letter being sent out to a yet unknown party, this web of lies finding ears and tongues stupid enough to believe and to spread it. Understood?”

Adams gave a surprisingly gracious bow given his short stature while the Fire Man’s heart fluttered with joy, listening to his master’s voice.

“Lewis.”

“Yes, Sir?”

The Chancellor didn’t raise his gaze. Instead, it remained focused on the Spark hanging on his chain round the Fire Man’s neck. For a fleeting instant, the Fire Man saw a glimpse of deep hatred in the man’s eyes.

It disappeared as quickly as it has come, though, leaving the Fire Man quite shaken.

“Make sure everything is solved this time. We cannot afford any mishap.”

He nodded.

Wishing with all his heart he could summon the flames and let them devour the whole island.


	18. Chapter 18

MOLLY

_The day after the Blood Moon_

I’m lying in my bed, unable to move without pain suddenly pulsing in my whole body.

This, more than anything else, convinces me that I didn’t dream what happened tonight.

I accepted what the Book offered, this freedom which seemed so tempting and so dangerous at the same time.

I remember seeing the words erupting from the page, throwing themselves at me, as if they wanted to swallow me whole.

I only had the time to hear the Book whispering in my ear “I’ll give you three gifts” before my mind went blank.

And now, I’m lying in my bed, rivers of fire in my blood, flowing through everywhere, from my fingertips to the pit of my stomach to the soles of my feet.

For the Father’s sake, what did I do?

I try to raise my head from my pillow, but even this small gesture causes a sharp ache in my neck. I gasp and decide not to move again – at least for the moment.

Outside, there’s still night. No light spilling through my windows. This is so strange to wake up in the middle of the night. It almost never occurred before, except for the times I was being sick and calling for Mother. I can’t even remember the last time it happened.

I would like to close my eyes again and go to sleep, waiting for the morning to come – with a bit of luck, the pain might even have disappeared by this time – but sleep evades me. It’s terrifying. The familiar warmth creeping up on my limbs as it grows dark, the haze filling my mind, the soft voice telling me to close my eyes, everything has disappeared. Instead, I feel ready to get up – and I would already have done it, if not for my muscles cramping and aching every time I attempt to do so.

I huff a small laugh as I imagine the faces of the servants discovering me wide awake, ready to be served breakfast in the middle of the night.

At the thought of food my stomach growls with hunger.

Great, I sigh.

In an attempt to distract myself, I thought of the night before. As I’m reminded of the events at the Cunninghams’ ball, I feel a flush of shame spreading across my whole being. What am I going to do now? Father was so angry yesterday, his sharp words echoing again in my mind:

_Are you openly cavorting around with men, now that you seem to have snubbed in public your suitor?_

That’s so unfair! He should have been here, I thought resentfully. He should have intervened himself when I found myself being targeted by those boys and not blaming me and his secretary…

His secretary.

The Whisperer.

Who also sent me those posies.

A flush of a different kind is tinting my cheeks now.

I can’t believe it’s him. I mean, I know now that it’s him, but… why? Why did he give me those… gifts? Why did he sign “the lover who dares not speak his name”? Why does he seem obliged to remain mute?

As soon as the question pops into my mind, the answer follows close on its heels – of course, he has to keep silent. Otherwise people would be bound to recognize him. I try to remember what the other boys called him last night, before Father interrupted them.

One of them spoke about his father. Someone important, who has made a terrible mistake and was sent into disgrace. But why did he have to pay for his father’s blunder? Even worse – why would Father play an active part in this? It just sounds so… horrible. And I can’t even ask him why!

The young man’s face swims before my eyes. I feel ashamed I don’t even know his name while he… seems to have paid much attention to me.

Much more than Stuart, anyway.

A warm feeling spreads in my belly – a syrupy languor I haven’t experienced till now. I let out a small sigh, it feels… good.

Really good, I think, as it gets lower, reaching my hips. The creases of my thighs.

Swirling in my…

“Oh!” I say in the silence of the night before clapping automatically a hand over my mouth. I barely register the fact that I seem to be able to move without any pain. The feeling grows so intense it’s almost painful. I have to…

Without thinking of it, I put my other hand directly on my breast.

“Oh!”

It’s sharp, so sharp, I can’t even begin to describe it, it’s so…

I feel like a puppet on strings. As if someone else was directing my every move, teaching me how my body works now that I’m freed from the Curse.

My fingers pinch my nipple, gently at first before tightening their grip. It’s painful and at the same time so good. There’s fire coursing through my whole body, my mouth is half-open, letting out sounds I’ve never heard coming out of my mouth before and I don’t have to think twice before following the impulse of going down there, my fingers grazing the hair before exploring my warm, wet flesh.

It’s disconcerting at first, I’ve never thought my sex was so sensitive, I understand better now what Grandma was telling me when she said that bodies have been made so that we could feel pleasure by ourselves.

Pleasure I’m certainly feeling right now, as I find a rhythm, slow at first, quicker afterwards, as my hips start jerking up from the bed, pulse after pulse of satisfaction spreading through me as I gnash my teeth and tears spring to my eyes. I’m… seeking something, a kind of release which is coming closer and yet not as near as I would like. My fingers are cramping, my whole body is straining, I have to…

“Ah!” I cry as my whole universe implodes and I see stars. Release, sweet and fiery, curls inside and I’m left gasping, mouth open, not understanding what I’ve just done.

All I know is that I’m going to do it again.

And again.   

 

* * *

 

When I wake up afterwards, the early rays of sunlight are dispelling the shadows of the night. As I move to get up, no pain pulses through my body. It has completely disappeared, and I smile with relief as I walk to stand before the window, holding the Book against my chest. Its mere presence is comforting. Feeling the cracked leather cover under my fingertips reminds me of the first time I see it and…

A glint outside, through the window, attracts my attention. I narrow my eyes, but I can’t see anything unusual. I raise my hand in an unconscious gesture in order to draw the gauzy curtain.

“ _Don’t!_ ”

The Book’s sharp warning elicits a surprised gasp out of my mouth. I look down at It as if I was expecting It to start talking and moving as a real person would do before cursing me for a fool.

“What do you mean?” I whisper in the silence of my room.

“ _It was a Spark. I told you about them_.”

“You mean… They exist? I mean, we can see them?”

“ _Men from the gentry see them. They take it as a concrete proof of the Father Above’s gift to them. You, on the other hand… You are not supposed to be able to spot them, remember?”_

It is spoken with a soft voice, as if to soothe my fears. It has the adverse effect, though. I swallow heavily, being suddenly reminded of the consequences of my decision. I’m free from the Curse’s implications on my mind and body – I blush as I remember what happened earlier in my bed – but, naïve as I am, I did not think that I will have to deal with other effects.

Such as the Sparks’ existence.

“What will happen if someone understands I’m able to see them?”

“ _The Sparks themselves will know they have attracted your attention. It implies that the Curse put on your mind at birth does no longer work. And as I am the only one who have the power to free you from it…”_

It sends a chill down my spine.

“You mean… They will spot me?”

“ _Yes. And denounce you to the only person who controls them. The witch._ ”

The witch. Her daughter’s murderer, the one pulling the strings behind the scenes, the woman who sentenced all the women born here to be Cursed. A spike of anger surges suddenly within me.

“But… It’s unfair! (I look down once again at the Book nestled in my arms.) And you’ve been unfair to me as well!”

“ _I’ve told you it would be dangerous. I’ve warned you before.”_

“Yes, but… You didn’t tell me all this earlier! What am I to do then? Enjoying the freedom you’ve given me for a month while trying to pass unnoticed? And then… what? I will fall again under the Curse?”

“ _Yes. I wasn’t given the power to give you a complete freedom. My creator was already too weak, the harm that had been done to her by the witch revealed itself to be much too important to do otherwise. I’m sorry_ _I cannot give you more. But I only have a month’s freedom to give to you. That and three gifts to counter the Curse’s effects._ ”

“Which gifts?”

“ _One for your mind. One for your body. And one for your… Well, you discovered it earlier_.”

My cheeks heat up. I discovered it indeed.

At the same time, Its blunt admission takes my breath away.

A month. Merely 30 days.

“ _Till the next moon, Molly. I’ve been created under the Blood Moon, remember. Her rise yesterday in the night sky gave me a much welcome power boost to free you_.”

My heart gives a lurch. My mouth turns dry as the only logical question I could come up with is brought to my mind, rolling on my tongue.

“Is there any way for this freedom to become… permanent?”

When the Book finally replies, it does so with an unmistakable tenderness in Its tone.

“ _You’re a clever girl, Molly. I’m sure you have already figure out that, in order for you to keep this freedom you’re currently enjoying, you will have to kill the witch_.”

Kill the witch.

I’d have laughed if I wasn’t so terrified.

“Was that your plan all along?” I whisper. “Making me a murderer? Is that why you revealed yourself to me?”

“ _No, Molly_ ,” it replies in the same tender voice. “ _I don’t want you to have blood on your hands. Was I the only one to decide, I would keep you free and happy for the rest of your days. I would be your constant friend, the one you could confide in without any fear or hesitation. I didn’t make the rules of this world, Molly. I’m just a tool, more conscious or clever than the others. I gave you what was mine to give – a taste of what you should have been able to enjoy since you came to this world_.”

I close my eyes against the sudden onslaught of emotion, but to no avail. Tears are already clouding my vision.

“ _I love you, Molly. As I have loved all the girls and women who accepted me in their lives. The few men…_ ”

“Men?” I repeat, surprised. “But you told me…”

“ _Only the men belonging to the gentry are enjoying this life without any Curse put on their heads. As for the men working as servants, those labouring in the factories, the men whose fate at birth was determined as to follow their ancestors’ steps, they’ve been cursed as well_.”

“Oh. I wasn’t aware of all this,” I meekly say.

“ _You weren’t supposed to learn all this, remember. I tell you the truth, Molly. It is now up to you to decide what you will do with all this_.”

A weight which threatens to crush me seems suddenly to hang around my neck.

What am I going to do, indeed?

* * *

 

A soft knock on my door startles me out of my thoughts. I hasten to walk to my bed and to put safely the Book away before replying:

“Come in!”

Berenice enters the room. I expect her to behave as she did these last days – not meeting my eye while she goes about her business of dressing me up for today.

Instead, she shoots a quick glance my way. She doesn’t hasten to open my wardrobe or to ask me if I sleep well.

She licks her lips in a quick gesture, as if she was nervous.

“Miss Molly?”

“Yes, Berenice?”

I don’t miss her startled look.

“Why… Why are you calling me by my true name? You know the rules your mother ordered for the staff.”

“Is that your true name?” I ask, cutting her off.

She looks completely dumbfounded before replying a slow “Yes”.

“Then, why shouldn’t I use it? I’m done pretending things are otherwise.”

And as I hear those bold words coming out of my mouth, I know it’s the truth.

My truth.

I’ve stepped beyond anything I’ve known until now. With the Book’s help, I’ve rejected the bag they wanted to put over my head.

It’s over now.

“I’ve heard what happened at the ball,” Berenice breaks the silence between us. “Are you hurt? Did those boys… ?”

She doesn’t finish her question. I feel my face colouring as I remember their vicious words. I shake my head.

“They didn’t have the time.”

Thanks to Father and his secretary, as a crimson flush blooms over my cheeks.

“I’m glad,” she whispers furiously. “I’ve worked for the Cunninghams before with my… Never mind,” she hastily adds. “The point is… Those boys could do anything. No one ever told them off or intervened. I’m just happy that you were able to leave safe and sound.”

I stare at her in silence.

Mulling over her words.

“Thank you,” I finally reply, not flinching as she finally looks up at me.

We are left standing in front of each other, our gazes locked together.

“Miss Molly…” she whispers.

Her voice is trembling, she seems on the verge of finally saying out loud what has troubled her for so long. I feel my breath catching in my throat.

“Yes?” I say, not daring to add anything which might break the spell between us.

She swallows loudly before pulling something free out of her pocket.

It’s a piece of paper. A letter, more precisely. From the black marks around the creases, I can guess it has been in her possession for some time. I narrow my eyes as she slowly hands it over to me.

“Would you accept to… read it for me?”


	19. Chapter 19

MOLLY

 

“Read it for you?” I repeat as I take the letter, examining it closer. It appears quite obvious that the person who has written it has used a copy of _Cohn’s Voice_ to do so.

“Something to tell us? Write it down below and send us back! We’ll reply as soon as possible.”

But the words written in this blank space are not intended for a journalist’s eyes.

“I can’t read,” Berenice admits out loud. “Mother tried to teach me when I was little, but I didn’t quite manage it.”

With a sharp pang, I’m reminded of the Curse.

“Ilse, on the other hand, took to it like a duck to the water.”

I glance up from the paper.

“Ilse?”

“She was my foster sister,” Berenice replies, looking away. Her chin starts trembling. I’ve got the feeling that what she is going to tell me is dreadful. “We were raised together, we got our first employer together. Both of us at the same house, under the same roof, the Cunninghams’ if you haven’t guessed yet.”

I haven’t. But I let her speak.

“She… was my best friend. She… was lovely, full of life and warmth. When she got sacked, I cried all night long. Later, when she told me she had entered the service of doctor Willis, I was a bit afraid because he was a single man and you never know what might happen…”

Willis.

That name is enough to send a chill down my spine.

“You mean she…?”

“Yes,” Berenice cuts me off, staring at me with a pitiless expression on her face, as if she was a cat ready to pounce on me at the slightest weakness on my part. “You watched her being burnt alive days ago. You were there when she spoke her last words, when the last tears ran down her cheeks. You were there when the flames devoured her whole.”

Her voice sounds bland and it’s even more terrifying than if she has shouted those words at me.

Ilse. Her name was Ilse.

The memory of her slack face, of her last look directed at me, just before the Book cried for my help, pops into my mind.

“She wasn’t,” I hear myself saying. “She… didn’t cry or beg or… anything really. She was brave till the end.”

Berenice’s closed expression disappears, leaving only open-mouthed wonder on her features.

“I don’t understand,” she finally says after a while.

“What don’t you understand?”

“You. I don’t understand you. You never… You weren’t like this before.”

I swallow heavily. The Book’s warning comes back to me – if anyone suspects I’m free from the Curse put on me, if the authorities catch one whiff of this, I’m done for. I clutch the yellowed paper in my fingers. It reminds me of the trust Berenice has placed in me right now – enough to give me this unmistakable proof of her guilt. It doesn’t matter that she had never met the Chancellor’s daughter when she was alive or spoken to her. She would be deemed guilty by association and I have no doubt she will suffer the same fate reserved to Ilse.

In this world, men don’t seem to care about women’s innocence.

They Shackle, they torture, they drown them before throwing their corpses into the sea or into the flames.

And all this because of the witch’s power.

I take a deep breath before sitting on my bed. I softly pat the duvet next to me.

“Sit down, will you? I will read it to you.”

* * *

 

“ _Dear Berenice,_

_I love you. I shouldn’t write it to you, I shouldn’t write at all in fact but I’m alone and afraid and I know I’m going to die. I just can’t stay silent anymore. I have tried my best to protect you and I will just hope they don’t catch you as they are going to catch me. I love you, my sister, my friend, the first person I think of when I wake up. Your name is never far from my lips. It might be vain to tell you this, but will you please remember me? Remember my words?_

_When everything is over, when the lies they are going to tell me about me have spread far and wide, only you will know the truth. I need you to know it. I’m innocent. I don’t know of which exactly they are going to accuse me, what I will be blamed for. It doesn’t really matter – under their laws, I’ll always be innocent._ ”

I can feel Berenice’s smothered sobs racking her frame, the strangled sounds she let out crashing against the palm of her hand on her mouth. I do not dare stop reading, however. My breath hitches in my throat as I go on:

“I _f you forgive me for what I’ve done, forgive James and Clara as well, I beg you. None of this is their fault. Forget that Willis is a man or that Clara is the daughter of the Chancellor. Forget what we’ve learned at our mother’s knee – that masters and servants don’t belong to the same world. For once, my dear, it’s not true. I don’t know how we did it, but we did – we smashed the wall between us to smithereens and each of us helped the other. During all the time we plotted together in order to find a solution for Clara’s health – you might say she started all this, but she didn’t have any choice in that matter – we were equals. Gradually, sensibly, we forgot that we come from different backgrounds, we forgot that some of us are Cursed while the other is not…_ ”

This takes me by surprise. I quickly glance at Berenice, but she has hidden her face in her hands.

“ _We forgot all this. It was brilliant – one of the best periods of my life. How I longed then for your presence by my side! But I didn’t dare involving you in all this. It was risky enough working on our own, all three of us tied together. Willis’s friend took part in it, but only in the end.”_

Willis’s friend.

It could only mean one person – Stuart.

To think I could have read all this before going at that damned ball, that I coud have questioned him about it…

 

“Is that all?” Berenice asks from behind her hands.

“No, wait, there’s still a paragraph…”

“Read it,” she whispers. “Read it quickly. It’s torture.”

“Yes, of course.”

 

“ _Goodbye, sister. Goodbye, my love. I wish I had a last opportunity to see you again. To speak to you. It’s not going to happen though, and this perspective leaves me in such pain I couldn’t resist writing to you. I pray this letter will come to you. I pray for your health and happiness, my dear – what little we can find in our position._

_I love you_.”

 

I don’t realise I’m crying till I see wet splotches on the letter. I put it down on my bedside before turning to Berenice, still sobbing. I don’t think as I put a hand on her bony shoulder. I don’t say anything, I just draw her into my arms. She resists a little at first, raising a red, tear-stained face and looking at me so quizzically it would have been funny under other circumstances.

“Come here,” I whisper.

I see the moment her defences come crumbling down. She put her head on my shoulder, weeping like a child and I hold her against me, not caring that I’m not supposed to behave like this. Not caring that she’s a servant and that I’m her master. In our grief, any wall between us is irrevocably, definitely smashed.

 

* * *

 

After a while, she frees herself from my embrace. She doesn’t quite look me in the eye as she whispers:

“You have to get ready Miss…”

“Molly. Just Molly. Please.”

The shadow of a smile creases her lips.

“Molly, then. But only in private.”

“Of course.”

“You have to get ready, Molly. Dinner is at six.”

“I will. Just answer me – what are you going to do with the letter?”

She hesitates before replying with a faint grimace:

“I will have to burn it. It’s too risky otherwise. No one has asked questions as far as I know, but… you never know.”

I give a slow nod. It’s the right decision but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt somehow. I spare a last thought for Ilse, the brave woman who wrote these lines, who braved all these dangers just to say to the person she cherished the most “I love you”.

She was so very brave.

And I’m so very angry on her behalf.

I dig my nails in the tender flesh of my palm while Berenice is pulling out a dress from my wardrobe before pouring some fresh water in the basin.

I don’t know yet how I’m going to do this, but I will get to the bottom of all this.

I need to learn what happened.

 

* * *

 

Dinner is excruciating.

More than once, I have to ball my fists in my lap, hidden from everyone’s sight, to resist screaming. It doesn’t help that the Whisperer as I have started to call him is seated right in front of me, his head bowed over his plate. It doesn’t help at all.

To an external eye, nothing will seem changed, unless maybe the heavy frown which seem to be permanently etched on Father’s features whenever he’s looking in my direction.

But, for me, everything has changed.

The bland faces of the servants managing a faultless, black-and-white dance around us, removing plates, filling our glasses.

The clink of Father’s keys hung on their hook on the wall.

He even leaves his wallet and portfolio in plain view on the little table in the entrance hall. As if the idea of someone stealing from him has never once entered his mind.

I glance at Mother’s face and I wonder if she has always sported this vacant expression, if this vaguely happy smile on her lips has been there before.

If her voice always sounds like someone’s who has just been woken up from sleep and is still searching her words – a hazy, weak tone. Her sentences more often than not trail off, remaining unfinished, in a vivid contrast to Father’s strong voice and clear-cut words.

“… the fellow didn’t even wear a cravat!” he’s raging between two neat mouthfuls, dark gaze smoldering with irritation. “In the meantime, I’m still left without a deputy director… A complete shame!”

“Of course, darling.”

Does she do anything else than nodding her at what he’s saying? Has she got nothing to say for herself? My stomach is churning as I try to remember if that happened before? Or was I unable to notice it, too lost in whatever thrall the curses have put me under?

“Molly?”

Father’s stern voice startles me. I glance at him only to look away immediately afterwards, too afraid he might deduce what’s wrong with me.

“Yes, Father?”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Whisperer stealing a glance in my direction. I feel my face turning red.

“We’ve planned another opportunity for you to meet your betrothed. Your last chance to prove yourself worthy of the match I’ve concluded for you.”

I can hear my voice breaking a little.

“When?”

“Tomorrow. Mrs Cunningham has invited your mother and you to a walk in the Patriots’ garden.”

Any word I might utter now remains stuck in my throat. The Patriots’ garden – a very fashionable place to see anyone worthy of attention and to be seen in turn. By the time my walk side by side with Stuart, our mothers watching us as chaperones, is finished, the banns announcing our marriage might as well be published. “Are you not happy?”

Father is watching me like a hawk ready to pounce on a sparrow.

“Yes. Very.”

“You don’t seem to be.”

I dare to glance up at him. Our gazes meet. They remain locked. A deadly chill runs down my spine. It’s not a wise idea to provoke such a man.

But I can’t deny the very act is giving me a secret thrill of joy.

“I am,” I say, hearing Mother’s hitch of breath from across the table. Father swallows what was in his mouth. Stares at me. For an instant, he seems on the verge of adding something else and I brace myself to be ready to deflect his suspicions, but in the end, he contents himself with “Good. Remember your future is at stake. I will expect you on your best behaviour.”

My “Of course, Father” goes unnoticed as he gets up from the table. No doubt that for him, the whole affair is settled.

And I get the unique chance to make Stuart tell me what he knows about Clara’s murder.


	20. Chapter 20

THE FIRE MAN

The Spark was angrily fluttering its wings.

Not yet begging for being released from its glass prison, but it was close.

And when it would…

Victory would be mine, the Fire Man thought, a sweet aftertaste in his mouth, as he strode along in the quiet neighbourhood. In this part of the city and at this hour, everything was quiet. The footsteps of the guards watching over the streets, doing their rounds, reverberated with clockwork precision. Every window was blinded, its curtains drawn. Every door was locked, inhabitants of wealthy manors and rich houses sleeping safely and soundly in their beds.

Well, it was time for a wake-up call, the Fire man mused, looking down at his little guide. In the phial, the Spark was indeed buzzing with alacrity – its senses were developing more and more with each passing day, each sacrifice made in its name. It was devouring the energy the Fire Man gave to him through burning books and paper. In return, it was closing in on its prey, his attempts at pinpointing the Book’s location growing ever more accurate.

The witch had warned him when he had asked her “When will I know it has successfully tracked down the Book?” – “Oh, you will immediately be aware of it, Fire Man. The Spark will call you, sharpen your mind and arouse every one of your senses until you will have no choice but to free it from its prison.”

She had said this with a greedy glint in her ageless gaze, as if she was already imagining the Book’s destruction. A perspective into which the Fire Man was eager to seek his teeth.

He gazed at the stone walls, carved with taste and care, at the imposing residences and wondered which one, among the prosperous families believed themselves in security behind their fortress, had succumbed to the Book’s sirens.

Because it was here, the Spark couldn’t lie, couldn’t be deceived and it led the Fire Man and its squad straight into this luxurious neighbourhood.

How appearances can reveal misleading, indeed.

Waiting for the Spark to reach its full powers didn’t stop him however from leading his own investigation.

He stopped in front of the double doors, closed at this hour, leading to the inner courtyard of the Peristers’ manor. Inside the phial, the Spark was stirring relentlessly. Could the Book be hidden here? He gazed down the street, where facades as delicately carved and stately built as the Peristers’ house were peering down at him with their blind eyes. An area where politicians, rich businessmen and other traders loved to establish themselves and their families – the O’Hares, the Sullivans…

His squad of men – all seasoned and loyal servants of the Father Above like him – surrounded him, waiting for his orders.

Was the Book here? Or there? Or even a bit further down the street?

He clenched his fist.

He had to begin somewhere. He snapped his fingers, attracting the attention of his men.

“Let’s announce our presence here. Proceed with calm and order, we don’t want anything getting out of hand,” he pursued as two men started knocking on the doors. A short while after, one of them opened on a servant’s face, whose eyes widened at the sight of the Fire Man. Before he could say a word, the Fire Man ordered:

“Summon your master. I will see him immediately.”

The man flushed, ruddy splotches spreading across his features. He stammered:

“Honourable Sir, my… Master is still working at his office. He’s not at home.”

He glanced fearfully at the squad members, whose expression didn’t waver in the least.

Working at his office, indeed. Or rather cavorting around with the whores of the Red District, the Fire Man thought. He let his disgust show on his face before snapping at the man “Call your mistress, then, and don’t make us wait!”

The servant jumped as if he has just been bitten before disappearing in the deep shadows once again, his footsteps growing quickly fainter.

He must have succeeded, because a short moment later, a middle-aged woman, tightening the belt of her dressing gown around her waist, appeared on the threshold. Her face briefly betrayed her surprise before she composed herself.

“What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

“Madam, I’ve been appointed by our master, the Chancellor, to search this house as well its inhabitants. If you would be so kind as to call your servants and your family members…”

“Search this house?” she repeated, looking aghast. “Bur for which reason?”

“Detention of illicit objects. Please let us pass, Madam.”

“But…” she protested to no avail.

He came close to shove her out of the way; she stepped back at the last moment, giving him one last glance, surprised and distraught in the same measure. The Fire Man ignored her.

“Search the rooms,” he ordered his men. He turned to the woman. “Do you have a daughter?”

“Two,” she replied, bewildered.

Young and naïve little minds – the perfect victims for the Book. The Fire Man felt a surge of jubilant anger. If the Book was here, it wouldn’t take long to sniff it out.

“Bring them here,” he instructed his men. “I will question them myself.”


	21. Chapter 21

MOLLY

 

It comes without warning.

Father, who has come down to breakfast in a much better mood than the previous day – I assume it’s the consequence of me agreeing to meet Stuart later today, not that I had much choice in that part, obviously – receives a letter brought upon a silver plate by one of the servants as soon as he is seated. His face darkens as he reads the content. He finally lets out an expletive which attracts Mother’s attention.

“What is it, my dear?”

“The Peristers, our neighbours up the street… It seems that their house was searched during the night.”

“Searched?” Mother repeats, frowning. “What for? Have they committed some crime?”

“Not to my knowledge,” Father grumbles, taking the time to rub the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Problem is, Perismer Senior was away when the search occurred, so he only had the tales of his wife and children on which to base his judgement and he’s spitting nails about it. Not even the fact that the Fi…”

He abruptly stops speaking mid-sentence. I can feel his gaze on me, its weight as he’s watching me intently, trying to assess if I was paying attention to what he was saying.

If I had recognised what he was about to spit out.

Thank the Lady Luck I was eating my egg at that time, happily dipping my slice of bread in the yellow tasty goo. I try not to let anything show on my face and especially that fact I immediately know who he was talking about.

Who he almost mentioned.

The Fire Man.

The Fire Man was here, in our street. He was looking for the Book while I was sleeping in my bed, the Book held in my arms, against my heart. He was questioning and no doubt terrorizing those poor souls, not aware that the real culprit in his eyes was so close to him.

Or wasn’t he?

Father finally looked away, apparently reassured I didn’t understand what was going on or notice his near blunder. But his bad mood has not lifted for all that as the young man seated next to him, whose gaze I work very hard not to meet notices soon enough.

“You boy!” Father barks, making him jump on his seat. “Make yourself useful for once.”

He hands Perister’s letter over to him.

“Do your best to make up some appropriate reply to this old fool. I can’t be bothered replying to him.”

I watch Father’s secretary getting up from the table out of the corner of my eye. But it turns out I wasn’t as discreet as I thought, since, on the verge of leaving the room, he suddenly turns back to Father and our gazes meet.

I feel my cheeks burning and drop my head.

Just in time to avoid any suspicion from Father, who barks again a moment later:

“What are you still doing here, standing like a lump? Did I not give you an order?”

I don’t see him nodding his head before hastily taking his leave.

“The cheek of that boy, really!” Father exclaims to no one in particular as he resumes buttering his toast. Mother replies with a vague sound of approval while pouring herself another cup of tea. I suddenly get a vision of their relationship later on, when I will have left this house. Two people getting older next to each other, acting as if they have led a long and happy life together, while nothing is further from the truth. I know Mother hasn’t got any choice, that she has fallen under the spell, but what about Father? Is he happy with that situation? Is he aware of the curse and its effects to some extent? Does this life, with a pliant companion by his side, always ready to smile and to approve anything that comes out of his mouth, suit him? Does he not want someone challenging him, someone keeping him on his toes, someone he could have a true and heartfelt discussion with?

I suddenly feel sick as I realise that the witch, when conceiving her curse, not only robbed Mother and any other woman of the life they could all have made for themselves, she also deprived the men of the Republic of the possibility of getting to know us. Learning who we could be and what we might achieve.

I can’t stand it anymore and I find myself trembling with suppressed anger as I get up from my seat, asking Mother “May I be excused?”

“Of course, dear! Remember 3 o’ clock sharp in the entrance hall.”

“Don’t make your mother wait, Molly,’ Father warns from behind his newspaper.

I nod in silence, my mind already working furiously towards this meeting – I must obtain some answers from Stuart, this time.

* * *

 

I close the door silently behind me and turning to the stairs, I freeze.

Father’s secretary is standing a few feet from where I stand, looking intently at me.

Was he waiting for me to come out of the room? If so, he took a great risk – it could have been anyone. He clears his throat while blushing under my gaze – which is not a good look for him, his cheeks mottled with red.

“I’m…” he starts before I cut him off

“What are you doing here?” I say in a furious whisper.

He looks completely out of his depth, gazing at me with a growing amount of dread in his expression.

“I… I must talk to you,” he says. “After last night…”

My turn to feel my whole face heat up, as I remember how he intervened when I was set upon in the Cunninghams’ garden.

“Are you all right?” he asks in such an honest voice it suddenly makes me want to cry. I manage a simple nod while a warning bell starts echoing in my mind. We can’t stay here. If someone comes across us… I imagine Father discovering me talking with his secretary who is supposed to be mute. I can’t risk him taking notice and discovering I’m not the girl I’m supposed to be.

“We can’t talk,” I murmur under my breath and start walking to the stairs.

“Wait!” he says, raising a hand without touching me.

I look at him with trepidation  
“Are you… are you going through with this wedding?”

The despair ringing in his tone leaves me rooted to the spot. We stand gazing at each other, him with dangerous fervour in his eyes, me trying my best not to betray my feelings in this regard. He deserves at least some honesty, but I’m unable to give it to him. There’s so much at stake – the Book’s very existence, Clara’s murder without speaking of my fate – I can’t let anything slip.

“Which choice do I have?” I finally reply.

“Does it mean that… you don’t love him?”

He’s no fool and I smother a smile at this. Instead, I cloak myself in my virtue and retort “That’s no business of yours. Leave me alone and go back to your Network, Whisperer!”

I ignore his crushed expression and go upstairs.

* * *

 

A lovely sight awaits me as Mother and I get out of our coupé and walk to the entrance of the Patriots’ garden. The summer sun has not yet had the opportunity to wilt the flowers in full bloom in the carefully maintained beds and considering the crowd strolling up and down the garden’s alleys, the Republic’s gentry is fully enjoying this afternoon. Mrs Cunningham, who looks more than ever like a gust of wind could knock over, gives us a bland smile as she sees us coming over her.

“Miss and Mrs O’Hare, what a pleasure to see you again!”

I see Mother bristling slightly at Mrs Cunningham’s faux pas – you never greet first a daughter before a mother and even less when you’re in public – but her smile looks quite genuine as she air kisses the other woman on the cheek.

A few steps away from her, Stuart looks miserable. He doesn’t quite successfully hide it – his veneer of posh disdain is crackling here and there. It doesn’t mask the dark rings under his eyes or the anguish which seems perpetually etched on his features. I take a moment to examine him frankly.

He’s still beautiful – still turning heads here and there – but it does no longer bedazzle me to the same extent. This time, I’m able to see through it, to distinguish that this young man has never wanted me in the same way I believed I wanted him.

A growing sense of peace is welling up inside.

Something serene and clear, a realisation which is startling and completely expected, at the same time.

I’m okay with this.

It’s all right. My infatuation – what I naïvely believed was love at first sight – has disappeared, leaving only in its wake curiosity and platonic fondness.

A gleam in the air is suddenly attracting my attention. It’s quickly followed by another and then another, until a dazzling, sparkling chain is formed, floating above our heads. I do my best not to look at it directly.

I become aware my hand is stroking absentmindedly the Book hidden under my clothes, right under the swell of my breasts – thank Lady Luck I’m well-endowed in this department and that Berenice didn’t question me earlier when I asked her not to lace my corset so tightly as usual. I force myself to stop.

The garden is – of course – full of Sparks. I should have expected it, with so many people milling around.

And I have no other choice but to interrogate Stuart right under their noses.

That’s when he turns towards his mother and spots me. His face contorts immediately into a grimace before he manages to compose himself. I tighten my grip on my umbrella’s handle in return.

“Shall we?” our mothers echo, looking at us invitingly.

Into battle, I think, as I paste on a demure smile on my lips.

* * *

 

As expected, our mothers let us walk together at the front, strolling a bit behind us while keeping a careful watch. Appearances have to be kept up, after all. I soon become aware, walking besides my silent companion, that we attract our lot of attention. Especially me – it looks like the gentry hasn’t forgotten that I have been ditched mid-waltz by one of the most looked-after young gentlemen of the Republic. I do my best to ignore the curious gazes coming my way or the little laughs rising as we walk past.

“Are you going to stay mute all the way?” Stuart suddenly growls, startling me out of my observations. “Although it might be for the best, considering our last discussion…”

“You mean, when you fled like a little child from your own house because you couldn’t stand me telling the truth?” I retort.

All things said, not the most diplomatic come-back. It certainly gets on Stuart’s nerves at any rate – he stumbles against an unseen obstacle and gapes at me. I take a few seconds to enjoy his indignant expression. I guess that no one – and certainly not a woman – has ever spoken to him in this manner.

“You…” he starts in a much too loud voice.

“Shhh!” I hurry to cut him off. “Keep your voice down. Neither you or I can afford the luxury of throwing another public tantrum. Besides, I’ve come here to talk about serious matters.”

“Serious matters?” he repeats in a tone which might manage to be mocking if I didn’t detect his surprise. At least, he’s still walking and no Spark is hovering around, as far as I can see.

“Yes,” I reply before hesitating. How am I going to broach the subject of Willis?

“I’m waiting with great impatience, then,” he scathingly retorts after a moment.

“Smile as if you were enjoying yourself,” I whisper. “Otherwise, our discussion might be cut short and you don’t want this, do you?”

“What lets you believe that I don’t want this precisely?”

“You wouldn’t be here if that was the case. You would have found some reason to refuse this invitation and it would even be logical considering what happened at the ball. Instead, you accepted and as disagreeable as you endeavour to be, you have not yet ditched me again.”

I quickly glance at him, taking in his clenched jaw and the annoyance gleaming in his clear gaze.

“You need me.”

A shot in the dark, but deep down I know I’m right. He opens the mouth to protest but closes it immediately afterwards. He seems out of his depth and I’m about to take pity on him when he says in a soft voice:

“You’re right. I don’t know how you managed to understand it, but you’re right.”

He takes a deep breath and that’s when I see it – the pure despair contorting his features.

“I need you to get me inside Stonewall.”

 

* * *

 

My turn to falter, but I quickly get a grip on myself. Now is not the time to make a mistake.

“What was your plan?” I ask, the same bland, frankly stupid smile still creasing my lips. Stuart replies in the same way:

“Getting married to you as soon as I can and convincing somehow my future stepfather to offer me the opportunity to visit Stonewall. Wouldn’t have been too difficult – now that they have buried the hatchet between them, our fathers are thick as thieves. Daddy is about to get the promotion he coveted and your father must have gained some advantage from leaving behind his political pretentions.”

I remember our departure for Stone Island, the day they murdered Ilse. Father’s growing irritation and the swiftness with which it disappeared as soon as he finished his discussion with Cunningham Senior.

“As soon as I heard what happened,” Stuart pursues in a strained voice, “I knew I had to act somehow.”

“You mean, Willis getting arrested.”

“Yes.”

I can hear, in this single word, all the sadness and anger he’s feeling. I realise then he has been under a lot of stress – his lover under lock and key at Stonewall, finding himself alone and desperate to get him out of there, without speaking of his involvement in what Willis and Clara had concocted with Ilse’s help…

“I have to save him.”

He abruptly stops, looking at me so intently I feel heat coming up my cheeks. For an outsider’s eye, our little scene has all the appearance of a love confession – the blushing, demure maid finally hearing what she had wanted all along. Our mothers certainly think so at least. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Mother barely containing her excitement.

“I will help you,” I reply.

His eyes widen.

“How? Why?”

“Because I need to talk to Willis. I know you’ve all been involved in what leads to Clara’s death.”

He grows so pale I’m afraid he’s going to faint.

“It’s… It’s not what you think!”

I wave away his feeble protest.

“Don’t worry. I won’t breathe a word of this. All I want is the truth. And for this, I have to speak to your… lover.”

Saying this out loud costs me an effort but I feel proud of myself having acknowledged this fact.

“As for your first question – how we’re going to do this…”

The Book chooses that moment to intervene, whispering in my ear:

_Leave it to me. I’ll help you. I owe you two gifts, remember?_

The warmth spreading across my soul as I hear Its voice is soon replaced with fear as a Spark hovering around suddenly freezes and zooms in our direction.

_Shhhh!_ I desperately think.

“Molly?” Stuart whispers. “Are you all right?”

“Offer me your arm,” I whisper back. He readily complies and we resume our walk. The glances directed at us have changed – from mocking and derisive, they’re now loaded with open envy. I’m sure rumours of an upcoming wedding are spreading quickly.

We spend a moment walking in silence, closer than we were before. The Spark coming our way before is soon diverted, joining his brethren. I let out a sigh of relief.

“We have to act quickly,” Stuart breaks the silence. “For the moment, they’re still hesitating about sentencing him to death. Thank the Father Above James got some high-placed connections before… But they will turn on him sooner or later.”

I automatically nod, my thoughts wandering to this morning, when I heard of the Fire man’s raid in the Peristers’ house. The realisation I might have to flee the only home I’ve ever known hits me like a fist in the belly. I swallow heavily before replying:

“Yes, you’re right.”

Inspiration strikes me – or do I still hear the Book whispering to me?

“Let’s meet tomorrow night.”

I can feel Stuart stiffening next to me.

“But… Who are you, exactly?”

“What do you mean?”

“No young lady will ever behave in such a way! You’re talking of helping me to get some answers, making a secret rendez-vous as if… you were a man!”

Under other circumstances I might have laughed. Way too dangerous, however – I declare myself content with the vicious thrill of joy fluttering inside me.

Not what you were expecting, heh?

“Meet me on the Bryant quay,” I whisper, “at midnight. Bring a boat.”

I can’t stop myself looking up at him and quipping:

“I assume you’ll find one in your family’s collection.”


	22. Chapter 22

MOLLY

 

As the afternoon slowly trudges along, however, all the self-confidence I’ve demonstrated earlier takes swiftly flight only to be replaced by a growing, gnawing mass of doubts and questions.

How am I ever going to get both Stuart and me inside Stonewall? And not only to talk to Willis but to try to break him free from his cell? What kind of madness surged through my veins and into my mind to make me say such folly?

Only the Book’s reassurance echoing in my head helps me keeping my nerve.

Back from the stroll in the Patriots’ Garden, I barely listened to Mother gushing in my ear about how Stuart and I attracted everyone’s attention. I felt a brief flutter of guilt deep down inside as she started planning our future wedding, but let it go when she left me with a kiss on my cheek.

“I’m going to tell all this to your father, he’s going to be so happy!”

I gave a single nod, ignoring the sadness welling up inside me. To think I was once so close to my parents the mere idea of disobeying them would never have crossed my mind. Now, they look more and more like complete strangers, not even aware of how much I’ve changed in the span of a few weeks.

I slowly walked upstairs, got into my room and finally, as the door closed behind me, I dared unlacing the already loose corset, breathing freely again and feeling in my palm the beloved weight of the Book.

Now, as the last rays of sun are casting their light through the window, I sit cross-legged on my bed and glance at the Book put in front of me.

“Is it safe to talk now?” I whisper in the silence of the room.

_Yes_ , It replies instantly, eliciting a sigh of relief from my lips. _The witch’s control over magic and the Sparks is especially strong outside. She draws energy from every inhabitant of the Republic as soon as they step out of their home. It’s another story when you’re within their walls. For the moment, we have evaded detection._

For the moment. I shiver as I remember Father receiving the letter of Perister Senior, the morning after the Fire Man and his men turned up at his place only to ransack his home and terrify his family.

_But can the Sparks scent your magic otherwise? Do they have any means to find you here?_

Deep down inside, I still hope the Book is going to deny all this, to tell me that of course, they can’t. It swiftly dies as I hear It taking a deep breath before replying:

_I would love to tell you that it isn’t possible, Molly. Unfortunately, it is. As long as the Blood Moon, the moon under which I was created, was rising in the sky, the witch’s magic was disrupted and Sparks couldn’t find me. But everything has an end. I felt it in the air this afternoon, as you were talking with Stuart. The Sparks are looking for me. For us._

I swallow heavily.

_When?_

_I don’t know for sure. They’re getting closer, though. The witch’s powers are reinforced with every passing moment, every Spark she draws from the people around us. Soon, the Blood Moon’s lingering influence will pass and… I will have to go._

“No!”

I don’t even realise I have said it aloud.

_Molly…_

_No! You can’t leave me behind! I… I don’t want to!_

It tries again to say my name, to get me to calm down, but I refuse to listen to It.

“Hear me out,” I growl under my breath. “We’re in this together. I’ve not done all this only to be obliged to let you go because you’re in danger. If you go, I go, understood?”

My heart is hammering in my chest, I take a moment to draw breath.

“You told me once that, to free all the women and men on whom the Curse was put at birth, I would have to kill the witch.”

_Yes. But it was an answer to your question, not something I’ve ordered you to do._

“I’m in this of my own free will,” I hotly reply.

_Are you so certain of this, Molly? How do you know I’ve not cleverly manipulated you into thinking you’re acting on your own?_

I feel a pang in my heart at this. Certainly because the Book is partly right – my decisions could certainly be considered as being taken under the Book’s influence. I suddenly remember Grandma’s story, how she drew comfort from the Book’s mere presence, even if she was totally unable to accept what was being offered to her at that time. And suddenly I know.

“How many times have you said this? To how many women did you have to tell those very words? How many begged you not to leave them behind, not to go?”

Its answer, when it comes, is laced with heavy sadness and regret.

_Too many. Whether they accepted or not the freedom I could give them made little difference, all things considered. They gave me their stories, pouring down their thoughts on my pages, they confided in me, they trusted me. In the end, I always let them down._

I feel more than I hear its soft inhale.

_I was born for this. It’s my only purpose in life, my sole raison d’être. To tell you the truth. To give you help to the little extent I’m able to and to escape the witch’s clutches once she notices my presence. I can’t do otherwise._

A heavy silence lingers between us as I bring forward my hand, lightly stroking my duvet in the process. Palm facing upwards, I put it under the Book’s cover, cradling it like It was my new born, with the same care and attention Miss Laurel taught us to demonstrate when we would become mothers.

“Then, we’re both cursed. Don’t ever leave me, I’d be lost without you. Please.”

_You don’t have to beg for my help, Molly, you already have it._

I shake my head. It’s not enough.

“Promise me you will never leave me. Promise me. Please.”

I wait in silence for several excruciating seconds. When the Book speaks again, I hear the determination as well as the resignation in Its voice.

_So be it, then. We will be joined till death do us part._

Another might shiver at these words. But not me – a smile creases my lips as I feel warmth blooming inside my chest. I’d never be alone again.

* * *

 

At the time darkness has swallowed whole Cohn Island, I’ve turned into a ball of nerves. At dinner I taste nothing but ashes in my mouth as questions assail me ruthlessly. They all focus on a single point – How am I ever going to get into Stonewall? Practically, I knew I could easily steal Father’s keys from the place he hung them in his office. He has no reason to hide them from sight or to store in some secret place because who on earth would even think of taking them? No one.

I picture myself running to Bryant Wharf, where I should meet Stuart, who, with a bit of luck, should have borrowed a boat from his family’s fleet by then.

But, as hard as I try though, there’s just something who doesn’t add up. Something which can’t be overlooked.

A girl like me will never manage to convince grown men to obey her, even if I got Father’s keys. The fleeting idea of disguising myself as a young man, to remain mute and to keep my face hidden in shadow has crossed my mind.

But I’m not sure how to produce a successful deception, especially with my body as it is. I’ve got breasts, hips, thighs, without mentioning other parts of my body, which simply betray quite visibly my female nature. Should I try strapping them up and lacing my corset so tightly I’m in danger of death by suffocation, then?

As I bid good night to my parents, who are still in very good spirits thanks to me meeting Stuart this afternoon, and walk upstairs, I glance at the clock – 9 pm.

Were I still cursed, I’d fall asleep as soon as I lay in bed.

Now, sleep is really not an option.

_Stop fretting_ , the Book whispers to me as soon as I enter my room. _I did tell you I would help you in this._

“But how?” I whisper back.

_Did you forget I have still two more gifts to offer?_ It gently admonishes me. _Three gifts to specifically counter the Curse’s effects on your mind, body and sex. The last one, you’ve already experienced. Two others remain._

“And what does it mean, exactly?” I said, arms crossed over my chest.

_You can’t go there as yourself if you have any hope of getting into the prison and coming back out of it afterwards. You’ve already thought of it, so it’s no surprise._

“Yes, but I’m no closer to finding a solution,” I sigh.

_Except if, with my help, you can be turned into someone no one will ever dare refusing anything. Someone who will have enough authority, especially if you steal your father’s keys, that no guard will ever suspect he’s a fraud._

The logical conclusion pops into my mind. I barely believe it, though.

“You mean, I will be… ?”

_A man, yes._

A man.

It boggles my mind.

_It’ll be temporary, of course., but it will last sufficiently long for you to attempt the journey to and back from Stonewall._

“Yeah…” I whisper automatically, still paralyzed with the idea of being transformed into someone else, even for a few hours.

_There is just one hurdle, though  
_That gets my attention.

“What is it?”

_There’s a large possibility that the magic required to do so would trigger the Sparks’ detection system. Alarm would be raised and you would be forced to flee if you don’t want to be arrested, then._

The Book says all this with the blandest tone It could muster but underneath those words, I can sense Its fear and Its regret. A small smile is playing on my lips as I come closer to It and let my fingers graze Its worn cover. For an instant, the crazy idea the Book might turn into a human being, of blood and bone, with a friendly face comes across my mind. I immediately dismiss it.

I don’t need It under another form, I muse as I take it in both hands.

“So be it, then,” I whisper, repeating the same words It told me a few hours earlier.

* * *

 

I find myself at half past eleven in Father’s study. Silence has engulfed the whole house, there’s no one around even in the servants’ quarter, I’ve made sure of it. I have played with the idea of warning Berenice of my plan, ensuring that she had indeed burned Ilse’s letter as I had instructed her, but there’s no time anymore to do so.

Besides, Berenice can’t read and I don’t trust any other servant to convey safely my message to her.

I close the door softly behind me. Father’s familiar perfume floats in the air, a mix of tobacco, Cologne and leather. I swallow heavily. My fingers are trembling as I take off the keys off the hook and putting them on Father’s desk before rummaging around the small closet where he – thanks Lady Luck – is keeping a few spare clothes. I’m shivering as I swiftly take off my nightdress. The dying ashes in the hearth are casting a feeble light on my skin. I take a deep breath.

“Do it.”


	23. Chapter 23

THE FIRE MAN

 

“Sweep it under the carpet? Are you kidding?”

“Show some respect, Sir! You do not find yourself in a public house and I won’t be treated…”

“You forget yourself, Perister!”

Despite the control he was currently exercising over himself, the Fire Man felt his lip curl in disgust. The sight of all these politicians, fighting like dogs over a single bone, doing their best to drown the others’ voice, all this under the tired gaze of the Chancellor… What an utter disgrace. He let his gaze wander round till it found the scarlet face, still contorted with helpless rage and outrage, of Perister Senior, who was about to dismiss all dignity and start shouting himself hoarse in an attempt to redirect the attention of the whole room on his current plight.

For such a small man, he certainly got a loud voice, the Fire Man mused.

A flash of colour caught his attention.

Seated behind his desk, the Chancellor was once again massaging his temples and forehead with the tip of his fingers. He looked… exhausted, not only physically but also emotionally. By the light of the fire, which had been lit earlier, his skin had turned grey and sick-looking. His wrinkles seemed to have increased over the last few days, trenches dug deep into a battlefield which remained out of reach for the Fire Man. He gnashed his teeth. The Republic’s leader, their beloved ruler, was suffering more and more from a mystery illness and no one, except for him, seemed to see anything! For a moment, he was tempted to dismiss all the good-for-nothing members of the Cabinet, to order them to get out of this office in order to remain alone with the Chancellor. If the man could only confide in him…

“Chancellor, I’m sorry to disturb you with all this,” Perister Senior manages to get across the hubbub which reigned now in the room, “but I find it unacceptable that that man…”

He pointed an accusing finger at the Fire Man, glaring at him.

“… took the liberty of going in my house without waiting for my permission, terrorizing my whole family and my servants and slandering my name with false accusations! He didn’t even apologise for the damage he caused! And now that I’m quite reasonably complaining against this treatment, I’m told to shut up about it and to let it sweep under the rug! That’s…”

“A waste of my time, Perister and I hope for your sake you’ll grow quickly aware of how much your permanent chinwagging is getting on my nerves,” the Chancellor cut him off in a tone which reveals the strain he was under.

He didn’t look up at Perister or the Fire Man as he spoke, waving instead vaguely in the Fire Man’s direction.

“Lewis here acted under my orders. I’ve placed my whole trust in him, he has been vested with my authority. He is…”

He abruptly stopped, leaving a deep, uneasy silence growing between the men present in the room. Some of them exchanged worried and confused glances. The Fire Man only had eyes for his master, still defending him as he himself was affected by unfathomable pain.

“He is… pursuing a mission…” he said with great effort before finally clamming up.

The Fire Man got up in a fluid and quick movement, taking everyone by surprise; He opened his mouth, ready to launch into a pitiless tirade against the fools in front of him when he suddenly felt something pulsing against his sternum. A wave of energy spreads across his whole body and he found himself gasping for breath as a force such as he had never known surged within, increasing his heartbeat till he believed he would die on the spot. Black spots danced before his very eyes, each of his muscles seemed to cramp. When he came back to reality, he found himself on all fours in front of a dumbfounded assembly.

“By the Father Above! What on earth happened here?”

He got up without help, glancing at the Chancellor, who has shaken for the moment the trance he had fallen into and who looked at him open-mouthed.

“Lewis…”

“Chancellor, it’s here. I can finally feel it.”

He didn’t say more because they weren’t alone, but he didn’t need to, it seems – deep stupefaction washed over the Chancellor’s face, before his gaze glowed with fierce determination. A hidden fire started to gleam in his eyes, which causes a secret satisfaction to burn within the Fire Man’s soul.

“Find it.”

The Fire Man bowed before him, made a mocking salute to the Cabinet’s members and then strode out of the office.

He had a job to do – and this time, the culprit was within his reach.


	24. Chapter 24

MOLLY

 

My heart is trying to punch its way out through my ribs as I start running outside, my feet landing hard on the cobblestones.

Me.

Running.

Outside.

It’s unbelievable.

Totally amazing.

I would pinch myself in a second but the fact is – I can feel _it_ happening.

As I can feel my new body, molding my own as a glove, bringing me comfort and joy and daring such as I have never known before.

When the Book performed its magic on me, there was no pain. No discomfort. Only a numbing sensation starting from the top of my head and making its way through my whole being, till it reached my toes. I barely felt anything, only a fluttering inside, as if some strange beast was moving through my entrails, looking for another hiding place. The sensation made me giggle.

“It’s over, Molly. Open your eyes,” the Book said.

I dared not looking at myself in the small mirror hung inside Father’s closet. I barely glanced down my naked body – it was weird seeing me like this.

The familiar weight of my breasts on my chest has disappeared and where there was nothing down below but soft curves and body hair, it has been replaced with…

A furious blush spreads across my cheeks.

“Molly? Hurry up please,” the Book gently admonishes. “Time is running out.”

I drew a deep breath before dressing myself quickly with Father’s spare clothes he kept in his office’s closet.

And now, I’m running through the silent city.

Alone. Free.

I finally understand what it means to be a man – to have this seemingly endless freedom at your fingertips, to be able to do what you want whenever you want. It makes me want to laugh and to shout and I would do so were it not for the small voice whispering in my ear not to attract any unwanted attention on myself, even in the state I am at the moment.

In the darkness, only disturbed by the haloes of creamy light emanating from the street lamps, I seem to have entered a whole other world than the one I’ve always known. Around me, the few windows still lit either seem to beckon me or look like the many eyes of the Fire Man’s squad, ready to catch me and the Book.

But I’m still running. Breath wheezing in my throat, liquid fire running in my veins. I don’t care. I go faster, my feet slipping on the cobblestones as I’m rushing in a side alley, taking a narrow turn. I lean on a wall just in time to stop myself from falling. Getting a bit of my breath back during a few precious seconds before setting off again.

 

* * *

 

Good thing I paid attention during all those years to the routes the family carriage takes through the island to go to my school; Otherwise I would be lost in the maze of lanes and alleyways spreading between the posh neighbourhood where I live, largely silent at this hour and the livelier avenues leading to Bryant Wharf.

I imagine myself suddenly growing powerful wings and flapping them until I rise in the air, flying over the island like some gigantic – and rather awkward – seagull. Of course, it’s completely laughable to picture such a scene but the pang of longing in my heart tells another story. The truth is, despite the threat of being caught, I’ve never felt so free than right at this moment.

If only I could run forever in a never-ending night.

My feverish enthusiasm abates a little as I come closer to the Bryant Wharf. Looming shadows spreading between the buildings awake my fear and mistrust. Is there any Sparks still lurking around at this time? I don’t see any but I’m perfectly aware they can appear at any moment. I slow down my step, peering anxiously along the quay. I’m suddenly afraid that Stuart has stood me up, not managing to free himself from the Cunninghams’ clutches till it was too late. My heart jumps in my throat as a tall shadow, sitting until then on a bench, quickly gets up at my approach. I breathe a sigh of relief as I recognize Stuart’s wild curls, half hidden under his hat.

“You got the boat?” I ask, not beating around the bush.

I see his eyes widening, before narrowing in mistrust.

“Who are you?” he barks more than he asks.

Oh. Yes. I glance down at my mismatched clothing – I’ve just kept my shoes, but all the rest comes down from Father, who is taller than me – and I have to bite my lip not to giggle as I imagine how I should look right now to his eye.

“It’s me. Molly. I know I’m not myself right now, but can we skip the explanation right now and just jump into the boat you have hidden somewhere?”

If I believed my little speech was convincing enough, I find myself sadly mistaken as Stuart is staring at me, his gaze filled with wonder and not a bit of dread.

“What?” he croaks.

I give an annoyed sigh. It’s going to be more problematic than I first thought. I put instinctively my hand on my belly, just above the place I’ve hidden the Book, tied with a rope against my waist.

“Who else would have known about our plans for tonight?” I retort. “We talked about this when we met this afternoon, in the Patriots’ garden, remember?”

“No, I don’t,” he replies in a harsh tone, leaving me completely floored. “I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about. Please excuse me.”

I watch him turning on his heel, ready to leave me here. By Lady Luck’s knickers!

“Don’t you dare turning your back on me again!” I angrily snap at him. “Not this time, you hear? This is way too important for you to wriggle out of all this at the last moment!”

He stops in his tracks. Turns around. He’s looking straight at me, searching my face.

“You look like her,” he finally whispers.

I resist the temptation to roll my eyes.

“I _am_ her. Not someone to lead you straight into a trap, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“That’s exactly what a Republic’s spy would have said.”

I can understand where his hesitation comes from – Stuart has been forced to hide what he is his whole life, putting on the mask of the perfect heir – but there’s just no time left to soothe his fears.

“Look, we cannot afford to waste any more time. You have to save the man you loved…”

I ignore the shocked gasp he let out.

“… and I’ve got to talk to him before you both elope together. Are you with me or not?”

During a dreadfully long moment, we look at each other in silence. Stuart finally breaks it with a loud sigh.

“I don’t even know what it’s going on here but… Okay.”

“You trust me?” I cannot help asking.

As sole answer, he points out a small boat gently dancing on the waves, just large enough for two persons aboard. A steam engine is spluttering a few wisps of smoke as it seems to wait for us.

“Let’s go.”

 

* * *

 

The boat is jumping up and down the waves, sea spray splashing over our face and front. Stuart manoeuvres skilfully our craft, it’s obvious he has done so many times already. I’m reminded of my journey to Stone Island, back when I still believed I was just Molly, simple, not-interesting-enough-to-catch-Stuarts- Molly O’Hare.

I giggle to myself, a soft sound which is easily drowned by the noise of the engine and the endless whisper of the sea. Maybe I ought not to feel as alive as I do right now, but even with Stonewall’s bulky silhouette looming closer, it’s difficult to smother the feeling bubbling inside my veins. The certainty Stuart and I are going to succeed, that we will manage to get inside this dreaded prison as easy as a piece of cake and that no one is going to see through our deception is anchoring itself in the depths of my mind. It does not matter how many men are posted outside the ill-famed walls of the jail. They will all get taken in by the fact I’m going to present them with Father’s keys and insignia. They will all bow to us both and escort us till the prisoner’s cell.

How can they do otherwise since I’m one of them now?

 

* * *

 

And it’s exactly what happens. Stuart is getting more and more agitated, his whole body betraying his agitation, but I’m myself as calm as still water. My voice does not waver as I introduce ourselves to the sentry who greets us nor do I show any hesitation when he calls his superior. The man itself is tall and fat, but his gaze is piercing as he scans me from head to toe.

“I wasn’t aware that the Stonewall governor has found himself a deputy. When I saw him yesterday, he didn’t warn me either that the prisoner Willis was to be questioned at Cohn Island. It doesn’t really conform…”

“A last-minute request from the Fire Man himself,” I cut him off with such nerve it even elicits a small gasp from Stuart’s lips. I see the superior’s jaw clenching and his whole face turning red. However, he doesn’t relent so easily:

“You should have a written order in this case.”

A wonderful, absolutely shocking exhilaration drives itself straight through my chest all over. I give him my best smile, brimming with self-confidence, and reply with a soft:

“No. I don’t have any order.”

And before he can retort, I add:

“But, if it does annoy you so much you won’t be able to fall asleep again tonight, I will grant you the crossing till Cohn Island on our boat along with the prisoner and you may hear from the Fire Man himself his explanation as for why Willis’ presence has been requested at the Chancellor’s house.”

There’s a collective hitch of breath and I know that I’ve won this game. These men, as tough as they present themselves, do only know one law – the law of the strongest. The mere idea they can be seen as throwing doubts on their beloved Chancellor’s commands, even when they are supposedly told through my mouth, has them shaking in their boots. They would rather allow a stranger like myself (even if Stuart’s presence is certainly helping) to enter the prison than to show themselves as rebellious. The man swallows heavily before giving a brief nod.

“I thank you for your offer, Mister… ?”

“Sarria. José Sarria.”

And I click my heels together in a perfect imitation of Father’s long-ingrained habit.

“At your service, Sir.”

A smile passes on his lips, swift as a shadow. This small mark of courtesy has managed to soften the blow I’ve given to his authority.

“Deputy Director Sarria and…?”

“Mister Stuart Cunningham, who obligingly offered me his services at this hour as I have been instructed to act swiftly on the Chancellor’s behalf…”

“Of course, of course,” the man whispers, already half-listening to my quickly-expanding web of lies, waving us inside the prison’s heart. “I welcome you both to Stonewall.”

A guard is already waiting for us, torch in hand, a pillow crease still on his young face. I should feel pity for him, for all the fools so easily duped by my little comedy, especially when I think of the consequences this is going to have for all of them.

But there’s not a single trace of compassion in my whole soul.

“Thank you,” I answer. “Lead the way.”

 

* * *

 

The stench around us only grows stronger as we walk into Stonewall’s dark and damp bowels. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Stuart turning even paler than I thought possible. Even the baby-faced soldier leading us to Willis’ cell is not unaffected – he visibly shivers before hastening his step as if he could go past the stink and leave it behind him.

Laughable idea.

The smell, born of tears and blood, of misery and fury, of men’s cruelty and viciousness has impregnated every stone, every bar, every cell’s door of this prison till it has become as solid and palpable as the mortar between the bricks. It simply cannot be dissociated from Stonewall anymore. I think of Ilse, of the last days she had spent in this shithole, of her suffering; I think of every victim who has ever shouted himself hoarse in vain under these walls; I think of Clara and her murderer still unpunished.

One day, I promise myself, I will blow up this prison till no stone has been left unturned. One day.

The soldier abruptly stops in front of a door.

“It’s here,” he needlessly says before pulling keys out of his pocket. By force of habit, he quickly finds the right one and unlocks the door.

“Do you want me to… ?”

“No. Leave us alone and give me that torch. You’ll return to close the door once we’ve left Stonewall.”

He complies before turning on his heel, only too happy to get rid of us all. I swiftly nudge Stuart, who has gone as white as a ghost, forward.

“Come on,” I say.

He gives me a glance filled with anguish.

“I… I can’t. What if… ?”

“Come on,” I interrupt him in a stronger voice. “You won’t know till you’ve opened that door, anyway. Or should I do it myself?”

“No!” he protests, his voice echoing in the corridor. “No… I’ll do it myself.”


	25. Chapter 25

MOLLY

 

 

The stench is even worse inside. Wet, rotten straw lets out a loud squelch as I take a step forward. The torch casts its pitiless light on the overflowing chamber pot laid in a corner and the decrepit pallet screwed down on the floor.

“James!”

Stuart rushes to the huddled down figure, dressed in a nondescript uniform. I can see his feet blackened with filth. I smother a shiver of disgust, taking care to touch as little as possible the dirt lying there.

“James! James! It’s me!” Stuart whispers, his hands fluttering like distraught birds over the silhouette who is slowly turning on his back, revealing a face fresh with bruises and hidden beneath a wild, filthy beard.

“St… Stuart?” he mumbles.

I come closer while Stuart lets out a strangled sound, before kneeling in the straw, not caring one whit about the vermin which is sure to crawl over there. His shoulders start shaking, he’s hiding his face in his hands. He’s sobbing like a child, finally able to pour out all the distress and heartache he must have felt during all this time.

“You’re alive, I can’t believe it, you’re alive…”

Willis slowly sits up, all his attention focused on his lover. In his present state, he hesitates at touching him, I can tell, but the temptation is too strong and he finally lets his fingers graze Stuart’s dark locks.

“My darling… I can’t believe you’re here.”

I watch them finally reunited and emotion, sweet and bitter at the same time, wells up inside. It hurts to see them, happy and in love, at least at the moment – you never forget your first love, even though it was unrequited, even though it wasn’t true love, not really. Their reunion brings me joy as well – a spark of happiness, bright and defiant, against this gloomy background.

In this instant, I don’t care that they’re both men, I don’t care if Willis has been involved, directly or not, in Clara’s murder, I don’t care that Stuart has hurt me, even unconsciously. They’re together and it’s all that matters.

A soft clink draws me back to reality. We shouldn’t linger here. I clear my throat and Willis’ gaze snaps to me, startled.

“Who are you?” he asks in a voice full of distrust, his hand hovering over Stuart’s head in a gesture of protection.

The darling doctor of Cohn Island’s elite has definitely disappeared, I muse, looking at him. I remember seeing him from afar at the opera, his fair hair slicked back, his smile open and friendly, cutting a fine figure in his black coat.

But this public appearance has melted in Stonewall’s thrice-cursed darkness, revealing a man hardened by the trials he has endured, someone looking much more like the war doctor he had been back in the Sikelian Empire.

“I’m Molly O’Hare.”

He stares at me with a puzzled expression.

“What?”

Fortunately for me, Stuart recovers enough to stand up, raising a trembling hand to wipe off his tears.

“I’ll explain when we’re in the boat.”

“The boat?” Willis repeats, looking to and fro between us, as if he couldn’t believe his ears – which might just well be the case, now that I think about it.

“We’ve come to set you free,” I briskly say. “Now there’s no time to waste, so get up if you can…”

To my relief, he is able to stand up on his own. Not that I would have minded assisting him in that regard, but he’s so filthy I’m not very willing to touch him, even through clothes.

“And do try to look desperate,” I recommend. “After all, we’re here on Chancellor’s order to bring you to his home at Cohn Island to be questioned again, so not really a merry opportunity, heh?”

I turn to the door, ready to get out of this pit of hell. I glance up and down the corridor. No one. Perfect. Time to go.

“Come on!” I order before coming out of the cell. Stuart, who is seemingly leading a subdued-looking Willis by the back of his uniform, immediately follows.

“Who is this guy, really?” I hear Willis asking in a not so discreet voice.

I smile in the overwhelming darkness, only disturbed by the flickering light of the torch I’m bearing.

* * *

 

We’re halfway down the crossing between Stonewall and Cohn Island when I ask Stuart to stop the engine. I sit in front of Willis, who’s still looking at me with distrust etched on his face, even though he tries not to let it show.

“I’ve got some questions for you.”

He lets out a dry chuckle.

“So, I’m getting questioned after all?” he snaps back, casting a worried glance at Stuart, who evades his gaze.

“It was the deal,” he says, his voice nearly drowned by the lapping of waves against the boat’s hull. “She… helps me setting you free from your cell and in return, she’s got to ask whatever she wants to ask.”

I can tell Willis is not happy with this turn of events. Too bad I’m the one calling the shots here.

“I don’t even know who he is!”

“I told you before – I’m Molly O’Hare.”

“I’ve seen the _real_ Molly O’ Hare,” he retorts. “She looks nothing like you!” He shakes his head, seemingly annoyed with himself. “I don’t even know why I’m saying this, it’s obvious from what I’m seeing…”

“I see that prison has not broken your spirit,” I can’t help retorting.

He snorts not attractively.

“I’ve got no choice. It’s sink or swim over there. Besides…”

He swallows, grief sharpening his features. Stuart sits closer to him, putting his arm around his shoulders. Willis thanks him with a smile, huddling near his lover.

“… I’m not the one who paid the highest price.”

“I know,” I say, surprised in no small measure to find a lump in my throat. “I was there when Ilse was burnt alive.”

Stuart visibly shivers while Willis frowns at me.

“Hang on, how do you know her name?”

I bit my lip – I’m not eager to involve Berenice in all this, but on the other hand, with a bit of luck, Stuart and Willis will never set foot again on the Republic’s soil.

“She wrote a letter shortly before she was arrested and managed to send it. I… came across it later.”

Willis gives a great sigh.

“She wrote to her cousin, didn’t she? She told me about her…”

For a moment, the silence between us is only broken by the soft music of the sea.

“She was clever,” Willis finally declares. “Clever and brave. Too much for this world, really. I… should never have involved her in this, but it all grew out of my control and the next thing I knew, I have become the ringleader of a smuggling operation!”

He gazes at Stuart, the fondness in his eyes all too clear for me to see.

“Thank the Father Above they didn’t catch you…”

“How did it all start?” I ask, impatient to finally know the answer to this particular enigma. “Why was Clara involved?”

“She was my patient. The Chancellor has called upon my services a few months after I’ve come back from the Empire. Favourable noises about my skills have been growing among the Republic’s elite, clients recommending me to their friends. I assume it finally reached the Chancellor’s ears.”

Stuart slips his hand in Willis’, letting their fingers tangle. I avoid looking at it afterwards – I’ve never had a chance with him.

“You see, Clara had a… problem with… her… Gosh, how am I going to explain this to you!” he growls, frustrated, before looking at me. “You know what the periods are?”

I look back at him, startled, before letting out a laugh.

“You mean, the time during which the white, gluey substance you find at the end of the day in your knickers stops appearing?”

Willis’ eyes widen.

“Holy shit, you’re _really_ a girl!”

This sets me off bursting into laughter and after an instant, Stuart joins me, first trying to smother his chuckles but quickly giving up.

Willis’ protest – “I don’t see what’s funny!” – only increases our hilarity. I laugh till I have tears on my cheeks and my belly starts to ache. I finally calm myself down, enough at least to raise a pacifying hand to an annoyed Willis.

“Sorry, it’s just that… Never mind. Let’s come back to Clara – what was her problem?”

Willis is still glaring at me, but at least he’s still willing to answer.

“You realise that if I speak now and that somehow reaches the Chancellor’s ears, I’m toast? I only survive because I give them any imaginable proof that no one, except me and Ilse, were aware of Clara’s situation.”

Stuart shivers and I can only imagine what’s going in his mind, hearing his lover confess that he lied through his teeth to protect him.

“It still wasn’t enough for Ilse,” I bit back.

“No,” he whispers, lowering his head. “It wasn’t. I don’t know why.”

I know exactly the reason for which she was burned down at stake – it’s currently lying against my skin.

“Tell me,” I say. “I have to know. Besides, if you both got lucky, you will never come back here.”

“I certainly hope so!” Willis huffs. “Oh, okay, very well. I’ve remained silent long enough and you never know, some good might come out of all this… It certainly was Clara’s objective. You see, you only got periods like this because you’re protected by the witch’s magic.”

I nearly bit my tongue at him mention her so casually.

“You know her?”

“Not personally, of course. But I’ve travelled to the Sikelian Empire and I’ve seen what women over there endure when they have their periods. They bleed, they have pains in their belly and sometimes it gets even worse. It’s a terrible condition to be in.”

I absorb all this in silence. I can’t even begin to imagine what it must be like.

“In the Empire, when it gets really serious, they call it ‘endometriosis’. In some cases, it’s possible to operate the patient, removing the cause for this. But it’s not available for all women.”

Stuart is looking a bit green around the gills and I’m not much better.

“And Clara…”

“Was suffering from this,” Willis completes the sentence. “All the doctors she has consulted before have told her that the best thing she had to do was to endure and to pray for Father Above’s solace – a load of shit! The Chancellor was afraid she might not be able to conceive, so he sent her to me, hoping that I could somehow devise a remedy.”

“Does it exist?”

“Yes. But it is forbidden here in the Republic.”

I frown.

“Why?”

“Because it interferes with the witch’s magic,” Willis replies, his gaze lost in the darkness. Considering the way his jaw is clenching, some painful memories are coming back to the surface. “It cancels its effects after some time. And…”

He turns his face in my direction, pinning me down with a single gaze. At this moment, I understand why Stuart has been drawn to him. Finding yourself as the sole focus of this man can quickly reveal to be intoxicating.

“I know how this Republic works, you know. I know about the Sparks and what they’re doing. All men of this society – I least, the ones not suffering from the curse – know it to some extent. A large majority of them prefers to bury their heads in the sand, much too afraid of the Chancellor’s fury if they were caught out doing or even speaking of something which might displease him. All of them bloody cowards!”

My heart lurches in my chest.

I’ve got an answer to one of my questions – Father knew.

And like all the others, he chooses to play by the Chancellor’s rules.

My hands clench on my knees.

“I… I decided to do something. For Clara of course but also for all the women I’ve seen coming in my surgery and whose pains might be soothed with this herb. Ilse helped me in this task and soon…”

“I was involved too,” Stuart pipes in. “And I don’t regret it one bit, only for the fact you were caught out.”

They exchanged a single glance which speaks volumes.

“What happened?”

“The shipment of herbs was concealed among much larger parcels,” Stuart explains “but luck was against us. During the ship’s unloading, a Customs officer came with his dog. They are specially trained to spot the herbs’ smell.”

“I don’t know how Ilse was warned off, but they came in my house that same night and arrested us both. They accused me of Clara’s murder and… you know the story,” Willis adds.

“So, you ignore who killed Clara, then?”

He shakes his head.

“No. But she was murdered, no doubt about it.”

A heavy silence falls between us. There’s a haunted look in Willis’ gaze and I instinctively feel that the wound caused by Clara’s loss will never fully be healed.

_Molly._

I jump a little on my bench.

_Hurry up, Molly_ , the Book whispers. _It’s nearly time._

Right, I think, heart suddenly lodged in my throat.

Soon, I’ll come back to what I am – a nearly friendless girl, who knows way too much for her own good. The temptation to beg Stuart to take me as well to the Sikelian Empire, to flee over there and to shake off the witch’ curse for good overwhelms me.

But something holds me back.

I have sworn before to find out the culprit of Clara’s murder.

I can’t give up now.

Besides, the witch is still alive. Still drawing out the magic necessary for her survival of unsuspecting victims. Still cursing women and men alike.

I have to stop her.

“Right,” I break the silence. “Can you take me back to Cohn Island? You’ll be free to go afterwards.”

“You… You’re not serious?” Willis protests. “You can’t go back there! They will find you and…”

He’s growing agitated and Stuart looks at me with a concerned expression.

“Molly,” he says. “Are you sure? You’re not obliged to return there. Come with us. You’ll be safe.”

“Yes!” Willis adds. “We’ll both help you…”

“Stop!”

I look at them both before softening my tone.

“I know you want to help me and that’s very generous of you…”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming,” Willis groans.

I can’t help smiling.

“There certainly is. The witch is still alive. And whoever killed Clara… He has to pay for it.”

My gaze catches Willis’. Holds it.

“He has to pay,” I repeat.

“You’ll never manage it alone,” he replies.

I almost retort I’m not alone.

But I don’t want to reveal the Book to their eyes.

It is mine and mine alone.

I only smile.

“It’s my choice.”


	26. Chapter 26

MOLLY

 

I’m running at full speed along the Bryant Wharf.

Darkness still reigns on Cohn Island, but there’s a hint of the rising sun in the clouds towards the east. Dawn is not far and I must hurry.

This time, I don’t feel the excitement or this intoxicating sensation of freedom I’ve experienced a few hours ago, as I first made my way to the quay. There’s a growing trepidation lighting up my nerves and making my step falter. That’s all well and good to say I’m going to unmask Clara’s murderer, but I can hardly knock on the Chancellor’s door, asking him what exactly happened, can’t I? The idea makes me giggle a bit hysterically and therefore, I only hear the Book’s urgent whisper when it’s too late.

_Stop! They’re at your house!_

I stop so abruptly at the crossroads I nearly skid into a wall.

At the same time, the shadow of a burly guard standing in front of my house’s entrance stands up.

“Who’s there?”

My heart is jumping into triple time as I do my best to remain still.

But it’s not going to be enough.

Steps are getting closer – the guard obviously intends to check by himself.

“Who’s there?” he repeats, more imperiously. “Show yourself!”

I crouch down behind a huge dustbin – thank Lady Luck it’s the day of the waste collection – and hold my breath.

The guard’s steps are faltering before he comes to a halt.

I close my eyes.

“Allan! Get your arse over there!”

I hear the guard groaning before getting back to my house. Their voices are clearly echoing in the silent street.

“What’s going on?”

“We’re going to search the whole house. Master Lewis is certain the girl has not gone very far.”

The other grunts before adding:

“Will be a relief, honestly. All those endless nights… The missus at home is not very happy with me at the moment!”

They both guffaw before getting inside.

I remain silent, a hand slapped over my mouth to smother the cry of fear and pain lodged in my throat.

The girl – in other words, me.

They’re looking for me.

I hear myself whimpering like some injured animal and I hate myself for it. I should have known; the Book has warned beforehand but still – some part of me can’t believe it’s over. I cannot go home anymore.

Except that I can’t stay here, in men’s clothes which will no longer fit me once I’m back in my body. I try to think about other ways to get women’s clothes, but they all seem unachievable. Besides, I have to give back Father’s keys and insignia. I’ve no doubt that once Willis’ escape will be revealed, they will quickly make the connection between me and the young stranger who was present at Stonewall. That way, at least, Stuart and James will at least win a few previous hours. It will give them time to enter the Empire’s waters and be safe from the hounds which might chase them.

I take a deep breath before getting up progressively.

I’ve got no choice – I have to get back inside Father’s office.

 

* * *

 

Fortunately for me, there’s another way to reach my goal – through the stables. The major problem is going across the main entrance hall afterwards but one problem at a time, I muse, as I slowly make my way to the courtyard. There’s no one posted outside, but as soon as I slip into the – thankfully- heavy shadows lingering past the door, I spot the man who is pacing up and down the stables’ entry, effectively blocking my way. I crouch down, tiptoeing along the inner wall, never letting the guard out of my sight. He looks completely bored out of his mind, casting envious glances at the upper floors of the house; Every window is lit from inside and I bit my lip, trying to imagine what’s going on inside. What are my parents thinking of all this? Is Berenice safe?

_Molly_ , the Book whispers. _There’s almost time._   

I nod as if It could see me and hasten my pace, still hugging the wall till I reach a splash of light on the cobblestones. I can’t go further before being noticed by the guard. Unless…

Unless I take the risk running to the stables while he’s had his back to me.

There’s a hitch in my throat. I feel my whole body shivering with fear and excitation.

In a flash of inspiration, I take as quietly as I can my shoes off and after an instant, the stockings I’ve kept under the trousers as well.

I squat a little, keeping an eye on the guard’s movements.

He’s unconsciously coming closer to me – one step at a time.

Till he reaches the same splash of light which has blocked my way as well.

Thank the Lady Luck he’s not the most observant of men.

He turns on his heel.

One, two, three steps forward.

I squat before taking a run up, barely noticing the cold touch of the stones against my feet. I slip inside the stables as quickly as I can before taking cover behind a large barrel of water.

Just in time – the guard must have heard something, since he appears at the stables’ entrance, peering suspiciously in the half-darkness.

My heart is trying to jump out of my chest through my ribs and I’m sure everyone, starting from the guard, is going to hear it. My breath is burning in my throat, as I try not to take any deep breath which might betray my presence. It lasts for what seems an eternity before the guard shrugs and resumes his walk.

I grant myself a moment to take back my breath before crouching down again and slowly but swiftly edging my way into the corridor, which leads to the house. There’s no one around – I guess all the staff has been quartered in the housekeeper’s office, down in the servant’s hall.

I try not to jump at every shadow I come across as I slip into the darkness, feeling my way to the heavy door giving access to the house. I pray Lady Luck not to find it locked from the other side as I delicately put my hand on the handle before pushing it down. The relief I feel as I heard the faint “click” is soon replaced with a growing horror as men’s voices drift to me, faint at first, then stronger as I close the door behind me.

“… can’t be! With all the respect you deserve, Fire Man…”

The Fire Man.

The same who burned Ilse alive, pushing her into the flames, all this to try to take the Book away from me. I swallow hard.

“You are making a big mistake,” Father says with his usual commanding tone.

The Fire Man’s voice stands in stark contrast, barely raising beyond a whisper, but clear enough so that everyone can hear it.

“I don’t think so. The Spark has clearly led me here, it cannot be duped or deceived. Unlike you, Mister O’Hare…”

“How dare you…!”

“Tell me then where your daughter is. Why is she not sleeping in her bed at this hour?” the Fire Man asks before adding, on a more malicious note. “Does it happen often, you not aware of your daughter’s whereabouts? How can you be responsible for hundreds of prisoners while you cannot even watch over your own child?”

“Do not presume to teach me my own job!” Father bites back, perfectly enraged. “I’m not some Perister Senior, that you can terrorize and bully to your heart’s content!”

“I agree. At least, the Peristers are innocent. You, on the other hand, are not. Till we have found your daughter and prove if she’s innocent, you are presumed guilty.”

I hear a dreadful sob.

Mother’s.

I will recognize her voice anywhere.

I close my eyes, tears burning behind the eyelids.

I do not regret anything I’ve done yet, but hearing my parents’ distress is making me ill.

“Fire Man! Sir!”

“What is it?”

“We’ve received some distressing news from Stonewall, Sir. It seems that… Willis has escaped.”

Ominous silence engulfs the whole entrance hall before exploding into noisy shards.

“It can’t be!” Father protests, but no one is paying attention to him, except for the Fire Man.

“You’re not even competent enough to prevent one of our most wanted culprits to break out! You’re a total disgrace!” he screeches. “I’m going to see what has happened and I’ll do my best to repair the damage your negligence has caused! In the meantime, you’ll remain here under heavy guard. Understood?”

Father must have nodded because the next thing I hear is the steps of the Fire Man and his squad going away.

After a moment which seems endless to me, Father whispers:

“Come, my dear. Let’s go to our sitting room.”

Mother does not reply, she merely sobs. I hear the door leading to the dining and sitting room opening and closing behind them.

Finally, I dare taking a step forward. And another. And another, till I can crane my neck and check the entrance hall.

It is empty – for the moment. The guards must have stayed outside, watching over the courtyard and the neighbourhood, hoping without a doubt to catch me. I quickly slip into Father’s office. There’s a storm brewing into my soul, waves of anger and grief violently battling against each other, threatening to submerge my heart. My hands are trembling as I put Father’s keys and insignia on his desk. I’m shivering from head to toe, there’s a lump growing in my throat and I have to fight back tears, which are already clouding my vision. I’m about to open the closet where I found Father’s clothes earlier when the door flows open.

* * *

 

“It won’t take a minute,” Father says, “I’ll be right…”

We both freeze as we catch sight of each other.

“Who are…?” he starts. At this moment, I feel the numbing sensation I’ve already experienced earlier taking place, engulfing me from head to toe. My body is quickly changing, turning into the shape I’m most familiar with.

When I open my eyes again, I’ve become Molly again.

A strangled sound comes out of Father’s lips. He is rooted to the spot, staring at me like I’m some kind of monster replacing the daughter he has always known.

I slowly kneel, quickly gathering the clothes I’ve discarded earlier in my arms. I’m trying to keep an eye on him, not sure of his reactions.

I stand up as soon as I’ve finished.

We both look at each other in unbearable silence. He’s the first to break it:

“It’s true then.”

He sounds completely gutted, as if everything he believes in has been blown to smithereens under his very eyes.

“What’s true?” I ask.

“You’re… the Bruja,” he says with obvious distaste, before softening his tone. “Oh Molly… What have you done?”

I clench my jaw. A part of me would like to give in, to go to him and take refuge into his arms, as if I were a child who still believed his Daddy is the strongest and the greatest of them all.

“I’ve only done what’s right and fair. I’ve set Willis free…”

His eyes widen in shock.

“And I will find whoever is behind Clara’s murder.”

“Clara?” he repeats.

“The Chancellor’s daughter. You didn’t even know her name, did you?”

“But who cares what she has been called!” he exclaims. “She’s dead…”

“She has been murdered!”

“I don’t care!” he cries. “I only care for you! How could you… How could you listen to It?”

It takes me an alarmingly long moment to figure out who is this “It”.

“You mean the Book. You’re aware of its existence,” I whisper.

“Of course I am!” he snaps. “I haven’t become a member of the Cabinet without learning some secrets!”

He takes a step forward in my direction, stretching out his hand, reaching out to me.

“Molly, please… I don’t know what kind of nonsense this… Book has filled your head with, but please come back to reason. Come back to us. We are your family, Molly, nothing is more important than this.”

I’m crying now, ugly sobs tearing my throat and my heart on their way out, holding my bundle of clothes tight against my chest as if they could protect me from the blow I’ve just been given.

“No…”

The word is out of my lips before I become aware of it.

“You lie to me. You deceive me,” I whisper between sobs, wiping off the tears still running down my cheeks. “You were aware of the curse and you said nothing!”

Father looks dumbfounded at this.

“But… But that’s how it works! Molly, our whole world is built on this! You can’t challenge on your own the foundations of our Republic, it’s pure madness!”

Amidst the grief still welling up inside, a vindictive streak glows in my heart.

 “Yes, I can,” I retort. “I intend to go on.”

He lets his arm drop by his side, gloomy despair shining in his dark gaze.

“You’re going to be killed, then.”

“At least, I’ll die as a free woman.”

We’re left staring at each other in silence and I realise there’s nothing left to say. I cautiously walk round him till I feel the door at my back.

“Molly…” he whispers, but it doesn’t contain any strength. Any power to make me go back to what I was before. I’m burning that particular bridge as I watch my father looking away.

“Goodbye, then,” I manage to say before fleeing once more in the shadows.


	27. Chapter 27

THE FIRE MAN

 

“Sir? Sir! We’ve found her!”

The Fire Man smothered an annoyed sigh. Such idiots really, gathering around him like happy puppies which had been able to fetch the stick they’ve been thrown and which all thought they deserved a pat on the head for this!

“Bring her here,” he said after a moment, while pacing up and down the room he has been given in the Chancellor’s own house. A grey day was dawning on Cohn Island, in a strange but very real echo of the Fire Man’s own thoughts.

He grasped in an unconscious gesture the Spark hung around his neck. Despite the successful events of this night, he couldn’t evade the feeling that he had been let down somehow by the witch’s gift.

He cursed himself for these sacrilegious thoughts.

He should be thankful for the Spark’s decisive help in that matter.

He should beg for forgiveness at the witch’s feet and pray for the sake of his soul at the Father Above’s altar, in the great temple.

And yet, there was a niggling thought lodged in his mind, some perverse little voice laughing at him and telling him what a fool he had been.

Maybe because Willis had managed to escape beyond their territorial waters.

Or maybe he hadn’t yet succeeded to identify who had been this “José Sarria” who had so boldly entered Stonewall’s prison and confounded the men posted there?

Who was it? Who was helping the Book, besides O’Hare’s daughter, this Molly – weak, pathetic creature who had certainly be duped by the Book and who would certainly be found in a few hours? Could it be that the Book had managed to recruit a man as well – and a young one at that, obviously coming from the same privileged background as Stuart Cunningham?

“It makes no sense!” he angrily muttered.

He suddenly heard a scuffle behind the closed door of his temporary office. By the Father Above, what a bunch of incompetent idiots!

He strode to the door and it flew open under his push.

“What’s happening?” he roared in the narrow-lit corridor.

The group in front of him froze – except for the young woman in its centre, who almost managed to spit in his face. For an instant, everyone stood still. Then the guard on her left landed the first blow, eliciting a cry from the young woman’s already bloody lips.

The Fire Man took the time to wipe the saliva off from his uniform as best as he could before interrupting the brutal display with a “Stop!”

“No need to punish her further. Bring her inside,” he ordered, indicating the seat in front of the lit hearth with a nod.

The guards immediately complied, bringing without difficulty the prisoner with them before dumping her on the seat. The Fire Man examined her out of the corner of the eye. A servant, no doubt about it. Even if someone dressed her like a lady, she couldn’t pass for one, for sure. He glanced disdainfully at the raw, red skin of her palms or her broken nails.

“You were the maid of Molly O’Hare,” he said, not expecting her to reply.

But she did.

“I still am. Unless you bastards have killed her!”

One of the guards was already raising his hand, but the Fire Man stopped him with a single look.

“Watch your mouth. And your former mistress might be dead as well.”

_Once we’ve caught her_ , he added silently.

The servant did not answer, instead looking at him intently.

Time to shake her a bit, then.

He drew from an inner pocket the letter which had been found when the prisoner had been searched earlier.

The famous letter he had been warned of and which had not been found – until now.

“You recognize this.”

“Yes. The letter my cousin – the one you burned alive at Stone Island – had sent me before being arrested.”

He didn’t much care for the anger he could hear in her voice, but all the same, it was annoying. He waved her comment aside;

“You know what is written inside, don’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Can you read it aloud?” he asked, putting the sheet of paper right before her eyes.

Even before she started to mumble away some words, he knew.

She couldn’t read.

She shouldn’t as well. No simple servant should be allowed to know their letters or numbers. But he let go on. She had a good memory, keeping in her mind the content of the letter. She suddenly fell silent, after a last defiant look in her direction.

“Who read it for you?”

She didn’t answer.

The slap in her face elicited nothing more than a muffled cry.

“Who read it to you?”

Still, no answer.

One, two, three blows.

The Fire Man raised a hand and the guards stepped back.

The prisoner took a deep breath, licking her lips with a bloody tongue. Tears were running down on her cheeks.

“Who was it?” the Fire Man repeated. “Was it… a man?”

The gleam of surprise which entered her gaze at this moment told him all he wanted to know.

“It wasn’t,” he muttered. “Who, then?”

She was panting, hatred burning fiercely in her bloodshot eyes.

And then, while he was about to signal the guards once more, she suddenly smiled. It was a grim thing, even without the blood on her yellowish teeth.

“Why, can’t you guess?” she taunted him. “You standing there in all your finery and with all your cleverness… and you still can’t figure that out?”

The guards took a step forwards but he called them off. Violence wasn’t needed, this time. Besides, he couldn’t resist the challenge, even if it was issued by such a wretched creature.

Slowly, with every passing heartbeat, a monstrous idea took shape in its mind.

Icy-cold dread poured out in his veins and his heart started thundering in his chest.

It couldn’t be.

But he still whispered her name.

“Don’t tell me it was Molly.”

She smiled. And then started to laugh – a broken sound, which jarred him enough he ordered her to stop.

And when she didn’t comply, even waving the guards to bring her outside, back in the temporary cell down the cellars of the Chancellor’s house – a much safer location than Stonewall’s as it appeared – didn’t bring him any satisfaction.

He remained alone in the room, as a pale sun broke finally from under the clouds.

In his mind, the blank face of Molly O’Hare peered back at him.

And he didn’t like what he saw one bit.

Truth was, he always considered women as things which were as pleasant as they were dull. Stupid, dim-witted creatures which could be simply satisfied with a gift, with a smile, with a nice word of their husbands. He understood why the majority of men bothered with them – pleasures of the flesh weren’t unknown to him, even though they had always left him feeling guilty and miserable afterwards, the few times he had indulged his base desires.

Besides, they were useful in some cases – keeping the men company when they needed it, bringing up children and making sure their households were nice and clean. He himself couldn’t have done so without his housekeeper’s assistance.

But it was about that – he had always described them in his mind as _something_.

Not _someone_.

Someone, who, are from being duped and deceived, had taken the decision upon herself to read a letter addressed to her servant; who knew then enough about what had justified Clara’s death to become a danger for the Chancellor and the Republic.

Someone who had evaded him and his men so far, free for the moment to wander through the streets of Cohn Island and cause potential problems…

The idea struck him with such intensity his breath hitched in his throat.

José Sarria had been described as a dark-haired, dark-eyed, not very tall young man.

“Barely 5 feet eight, I’d say,” one of the men had told him.

He was in company of Stuart Cunningham, who had fled with Willis.

The same Stuart Cunningham who had been recently engaged to Molly O’Hare, according to the public rumours.

It couldn’t be a coincidence – not when the Book was involved.

He didn’t know which kind of wretched, maleficent magic had been used but he knew then deep down that José Sarria was no one else than Molly O’Hare.

He had to put both hands on the table in order to support himself.

For the first time since it had all started, the Fire Man felt fear engulfing him.

Because, if his deductions were correct, he wasn’t up against a single enemy, but against two.

 


	28. Chapter 28

MOLLY

 

I rush along the street, take left at the next crossroads before veering right.

I delve deeper and deeper in Cohn Island’s underbelly, in a place where even the shadows never fully disappear.

I don’t know what else to do.

_Keep walking_ , the Book whispers in my ear. _Keep moving_.

No need for It to go on and say “Otherwise.”

I know what will be coming for me if I ever stop for an instant.

And yet, I have to stop.

Taking my breath back.

I’m on the verge of tears once again.

I think I’ve never cried so much than during that night.

I don’t know where I am. All around me there is only unfathomable darkness. The single point of reference I need is the embossed cobblestones under the soles of my shoes. I haven’t had the time yet to change my clothes. Still a woman dressed as a man. Still Molly O’Hare wanted by Cohn Island’s authorities for being a bruja. Still a girl who has lost her family, her home, everything she once held dear.

_Do you regret it?_ The Book softly asks.

I wonder what this “it” encompasses – our meeting at Grandma’s house? The slow and painful discovery of the circumstances surrounding Clara’s death? Or the choice I made to live as a free woman?

I don’t know. And it doesn’t matter. I do not regret any single event I’ve done during the past weeks.

“No,” I whisper back, be it only for the pleasure to hear my voice in the silent night. “As I told you before… I’ll never regret meeting you.”

I swallow hard.

“But… please talk to me. I don’t want to…”

The rest is too painful to pronounce and lodges itself uncomfortably in my throat. I don’t want to think that I don’t have any plans for my future. I don’t know what I’m going to do and even less how to find out the identity of Clara’s murderer.

Father’s face swims back from the depths of my memory.

_You’re going to get yourself killed, Molly._

I clench my jaw. Better to live and die free than to be like him – someone who has accepted the dirty price of power.

And yet, even though I don’t regret what happened before, what finally leads me here, I can’t totally shake the miserable feeling weighing on my soul.

_You feel alone, don’t you?_ The Book breaks the silence.

“It’s not that, I don’t feel alone so long you’re by my side…”

_But I’m not a creature of flesh and blood_ , It gently retorts. _I can’t bring you any physical comfort._

“That remains to be seen,” I say, as I press my hand against his worn cover.

_What I mean is that I can’t hold you in my arms. I can’t dry your tears._

“Do you have a point or do you like to torture me?” I snap.

The Book huffs a laugh, absolutely unfazed by my interruption.

_Yes, believe it or not. You don’t have to rely solely on me. You have other allies, Molly. People who confided in you. People who trusted you. People who loved you._

I’m sharply reminded of Berenice crying on my shoulder as I read Ilse’s letter to her; of Stuart’s face the last time I’ve seen him and his whisper “I’m sorry for everything”; of the Whisperer telling me…

I shake my head.

Better no to think of them. I can’t barely take care of myself, how could I ever save them if they’re in danger? And they must be, simply because they were close to me. I especially shiver for Berenice. She’s a servant, she was my maid. What if the Fire Man catches her? Oh, I really hope she has burned her cousin’s letter…

_That’s not why I was telling you all this_ , the Book sighs.

My turn to huff a laugh.

“I know. But I worry about them. What if…”

_Molly. You asked me to speak to you, so please listen to me._

“I’m listening.”

_Please consider the changes which have been brought not to your life, but to your character. When I met you, you would never have cared of anyone beside yourself and your parents. You would never have done a single of the thousand things you’ve done now. You would never have asked a servant what was wrong with her. You would never have worried about her well-being or about Clara’s murder. You would have lived happily under the Curse, not even aware you were so. You tell me you don’t regret all this, so please act like it! Accept the fact that people are with you, however far they are physically right now. You’re not alone._

It’s right.

There’s small and dry comfort to draw from all these facts, but I feel better nonetheless. I give a great sigh.

“You’re right. I’m sorry.”

_Don’t be. I’m perfectly aware of the trials you’ve endured until now. You’re brave, Molly O’Hare._

“Have you… Have you told this to anyone before? I mean, any of the girls or the women who have listened to you in the past?”

_A few of them. But make no mistake, they all showed courage beyond anything I’ve dreamed of._

“Were they… Brujas?” I barely dare whispering that last name and giving it to the shadows. A part of me remains desperately afraid that a brilliant light is going to shine down on me suddenly, drawing me out of the miserable shelter I’ve found and exposing me to anyone’s gaze.

_Anyone who listened to me is a Bruja in my eyes. It’s only an insult in the opinion of the men in power, the very ones whom the witch keeps a tight rein on. You will not be surprised if I disagree with them._

The sound of my laughter, echoing on the walls around me, startles me. I didn’t know I was still able to be amused.

_A Bruja is someone who opens his or her eyes and ears enough to understand that there’s more to life than what they have been taught by the Father Above’s church and by the authorities. Someone who dares going beyond what has been allowed to him or her; Someone who ultimately follows his or her heart._

_Someone who is free._

_And that’s why they fear and hate you, Molly O’Hare._

_You’re free. You’re brave. You’re beautiful, in and out._

“I don’t feel very beautiful, right now.”

But the Book refuses to be distracted by my feeble joke.

_What you’re still missing is a voice._

My curiosity is immediately aroused.

“What do you mean?”

_Don’t you think that all these women sleeping peacefully in their beds or already working themselves to the bones in the manor’s kitchens deserve to know the truth about Molly? Don’t you think that all the workers in the factories, who permanently bowed their heads, obeying their foremen, would like to hear about the Curse?_

What the Book is suggesting takes my breath away.

“But how… ?”

The words have barely left my mouth that the answer comes to me.

The Network, of course! The one everyone and their dog are always encouraged to listen. If I could take control of it just for one hour…

It would mean convincing the Whisperer, though. I don’t even know where to find him!

_Molly. Keep moving. I’m sorry but you can’t stay here…_

“Yes, of course…”

_Please remain silent._

I try to be as quiet as a mouse as I slip out from whichever back alley I found myself and follow the Book’s softly whispered instructions. Inside, however, a sea of questions is churning. How am I going to find the Whisperer? Apart from my house – I can’t go back there, I can’t! – I don’t know where he lived elsewhere or even the places he used to attend. I don’t know a single thing about him.

_He loves you._

Before, I would have blushed to the roots of her hair. Now… I feel strangely hollow.

_He’s certainly got a thing for you. I think he will choose to help you, should you ask him._

A grey dawn is greeting us at the end of a narrow street and I blink, dazzled by the pale sunlight. By chance, a heavy fog is rising from the sea and determinedly advancing on Cohn Island. It’s the kind of day during which you can’t even discern if the sun is always up or has already set.

It’s as much a shelter as it’s a danger.

Because it will muffle any sound I might make and may hide me from my enemies, but in return, I won’t be able to see them coming, should they ever spot me.

And it won’t deter the Sparks.

_Keep moving. Keep walking, Molly._

I comply, trying to ignore the way my heart is still pounding with fear.

* * *

 

Slowly, step by step, as I navigate my way among the increasingly foggy streets of Cohn Island – something which definitely soothes a little bit the worry gnawing at my nerves, as I’m still dressed as a man – the Book starts telling me stories.

I don’t know if It is making them up or if they’re real, stories that have been freely given to it, poured out on Its pages and never read aloud again, but it brings me not a small dose of comfort.

_Once upon lived a woman in the woods of Blue Island…_

_She was looking for love, but adventures met her first…_

_And the Fire Man called for the flames to burn the little house. They were so high and so bright it seemed the sky itself was on fire._

Each one is unique in its own way, whether they speak of love or greed, of jealousy so fierce it incited to murder. The ones I come to love the best though are the ones who describe how the characters – the persons? – found their freedom. How they build a life for themselves, whether they totally fled the society of men or they fought against it, fighting for the right to be themselves in the open.

Few of them, though, have a happy end.

Sometimes, the Book stops his stories to give me instructions.

_Keep walking. Faster!_

_Quick, hide!_

_Stop for a moment. Stand still._

When It resumes its stories, I know the danger has passed.

For the moment.

_Once upon a time a shelter was erected. It was a secret location for those who loved people of the same gender…_

The thought of Willis and Stuart crosses my mind.

_Because there was nothing more in the world the seamstress loves to than fucking her mistress. And the lady loves her back so much…_

_They were found. They were brought before the authorities. They were imprisoned at Stonewall. And in the dark of the night, the guards entered their cells…_

I close my eyes.

Ilse, I think, clenching my fists.

I hide. I listen. I walk. I smile and even laugh at some passages. I cry.

The few who dare to come outside are but mere shadows.

It seems I’ve comes across another world, a brand new one, where the only alive beings are me and the Book.

If only it could stay that way.

_You’re tired, Molly. Hide in this alley. Try to find some sleep._

I sit down on the wet pavement, icy air brushing against my face. And yet, weariness makes me close my eyes.

“You’ll stay with me?”

_Always._

 

* * *

 

I’m woken up with a jump as the shrill voice of a newsboy sharply echoes in the street I’ve found shelter. I have a nasty cramp in my neck and my mouth tastes like sandpaper; Yet, I don’t even care about this, especially as I start to register the words freely offered to the brisk wind clearing away the last remnants of the mist.

I can’t stay here.

“… summoned to Reagen’s place! A burning will take place on the eleventh hour!”

I fight a shiver as I realise what’s happening.

A burning in the open – it can only mean one thing.

A capital execution, the kind of punishment only reserved for hardened criminals.

A chill runs down my spine.

_Wake up, Molly! Wake up!_

I’m fully awake, thanks.

_Move on!_

I’m already fleeing in the gathering shadows.

A day has passed. Only a day – but it seems an eternity to me.

“Come and see the witch burning at stake! Official summons from the Chancellor!”

I stop in my tracks.

A witch burning.

A message for me, cleverly disguised as a public summons.

I know then the person who’s behind – the Fire Man is challenging me.

He is waiting for me.

And he’s got someone in his clutches. Someone dear to me.


	29. Chapter 29

MOLLY

 

I start running, my footsteps echoing in the streets, but the closer I get to Reagen’s square – located not very far from the Patriots’ garden – the more crowded it becomes. I can’t take the risk of being recognised and caught out. Not tonight.

And yet, I can’t resist the temptation which has been offered on a silver platter just for my benefit. I must find some place where to take shelter, where to go unseen and unheard, which might offer a good vantage point on what’s going to happen below, in the square…

_Come_ , the Book says in my ear, _come with me. Turn right._

I comply, walking as quickly as I can, taking care not to attract any undue attention. I especially avoid large groups of well-dressed men. They’re rambunctious and the air around them grows heavy with sharp smells – alcohol, food and some other fragrance I can’t identify.

As I stand hidden in a shadowy corner, waiting for a squad of guards to stride out of the street I have to cross, I hear one of these men:

“By the Father Above, that little bitch has rubbed her scent all over my shirt!”

The annoyance in his voice, mixed with some snug accent which automatically raises my hackles, elicits great guffaws from his comrades.

“Your own fault for not having taken it off, then!” another retorts.

“As if I would have allowed to touch my skin… It’s already enough I let her have my cock in her mouth!”

His careless words attract the attention of other men – a great majority of them belonging to the Republic’s gentry, who start smiling at each other in a conniving way, as if they all knew a secret no one else is privy to.

But there are not the only men gathering now and increasing the walking crowd – there are others too, in blue garments, their faces creased with lines born from too little sleep and too much work, and despite their tiredness, their gazes are glowing with barely smothered rage at this cruel comment.

They’re staring at this well-dressed, ostentatious gentry, who with barely a thought to others spread its lazy, careless way of life throughout the streets of Cohn Island, who does not seem to see or hear the people sweating blood over their work at the factories or in the bowels of the imposing manors. And their eyes are shining with a tempestuous mix of longing, rancour, anger and thirst for blood. If they weren’t restricted as well as monitored by the curse… Who knows what could happen?

The street slowly goes empty, all the people now rushing to Raegen’s square and I’m left behind, finally able to cross the street and slip into a deserted alley.

“Where are you taking me?” I barely whisper.

_To the Tower._

My steps falter and I nearly tumble over a cobble which has been half-dislodged from its place.

“The Tower?” I ask a bit loudly before being hushed by the Book, while the broken, familiar figure starts to emerge from the night. “But… It’s dangerous to get inside!”

Father once told me that the Tower was the first building to be erected the night the Sikelian Empire, after nights and nights of bloody skirmishes preceding the first war between the Republic and the Empire, decided to call a truce. Stone after stone, brick after brick, brave men who have fought so long for their freedom and independence built the Tower, in memory of that night when the all-mighty Empire, which had obliged all of them for so long to bend their back and to keep their mouth shut, showed the first sign of weakness.

He said that the day she was finally complete, the scaffolding hiding it from sight no longer necessary, people of the Republic cried with joy and celebrated it long into the night.

Now, however, it is old and dilapidated, its condition still worsened by a great fire years ago. In truth, it should have been demolished at that time, its blackened, hollow outline standing out like a wart on the polished, wealthy face of Cohn Island. But people still remembered why it has been raised so painstakingly and watched over our island.

“Old sentimental fools,” Father said, shrugging. “We should get our way with it, sooner or later!”

In the meantime, it was still standing and if I could reach the first floor, standing just above the roofs of neighbouring houses, I would be able to see what’s happening in the square.

_Trust me_ , the Book whispers. _I won’t put you in danger_.

Therefore, I shake off any fear I might still have and stride as quick as possible to the Tower’s entrance.

* * *

 

The door is not locked, because who in their right state would want to get inside the Tower? I feel myself being engulfed again by this confidence, foreign and similar at the same time, the same which welled up inside as I found myself facing the men at Stonewall. The sense of going where no one’s expecting me, defying everything the believe true about me… It’s dazzling. Once the door – or what is left of the once solid wooden panel – closed behind me, darkness’s wings on my eyes make me blind and so I grope along, slowly finding my way to stone stairs. The floor is littered with rubbish no one bothers to get rid of it since the fire. The smell of soot and burned wood seems to longer in the air as I ascend. I start to feel sorry for the old Tower, left in this pitiful state, once a proud symbol of what the Republic stood for, now a hollow husk of what it had been.

I reach the first floor without problem, nudging out of my way with my foot some charred debris. I cautiously feel my way to the platform standing over the square. At this height, it’s just perfect to distinguish what’s going on. I take care not to lean too much on the wall – you never know – while glancing at the bare opening, which certainly housed very fine and ornate windows till the fire.  

Raegen’s square is closer than I imagine. At this distance, over the roof of a single house, I can clearly see a large crowd is gathering in the square. At this hour of the night, early workers are mixed with never-went-to-bed gentry. All eyes are focused though on the lonely and crude stake, emerging from among piles of wood littering the floor. They have not been arranged with care and precision, as it had been done at Stone Island. Even from where I stand, it’s obvious that the work accomplished before the burning has been carried out in all haste.

A chill runs down my spine as I spot the Fire Man, dressed all in black except for the golden insignia sewn on his breast, emerging from the ring of spectators. Behind him his squad follows, guards surrounding a single person, hands tied behind her back.

I narrow my eyes as they get closer.

Dread fills my heart. Shivers run down my skin. And the Book remains silent, as I slowly start to realise what’s going on.

It’s Berenice.

She’s no longer has her usual clothes, she has been instead clothed in some shapeless dress, leaving her feet bare. That single detail is enough to anger me.

Berenice. They should never have put their hands on her! Why had she been caught out? Only because she had been my maid? I start panting with fear and guilt.

I can’t let them burn her! I have to save her, somehow and…

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the burning tonight.”

The solemn voice of the Fire Man echoes down below and I realise I’ve never heard him before. It flows, unfurling his cold, stark wings across the square and silencing even the unruly members of the gentry.

“The servant here has been found guilty of spying on her master…”

A scandalized “oh” is drawn from a hundred mouths.

“The proof here…”

He raises his hand, brandishing a paper for all to see. At that distance, I can’t be sure but it certainly looks a lot like Ilse’s letter.

A new wave of grief gets me under as I forget every caution and lean on the wall, in an attempt to see better.

“… is undeniable. She was conspiring with enemies of the Republic!”

In the cries of shock and anger, my single cry of protest – “That’s not true!” – hasn’t a chance to be heard.

_Shush!_ The Book strongly reprimands. _Do you want to join her at the stake?_

I ignore It.

“Please, please, help me, I can’t let her… like this!”

I’m begging now, my whole body trembling with the urgency to flee this tower, to go below and to somehow find a way to…

_I can’t._

“And so she shall be punished!” The Fire man exclaims at the same time.

“What do you mean, you can’t? Did you not help me until now? What has changed?”

_Nothing has changed. I’m simply not strong enough to give you a means to help your friend and to hide you both from the sight of men and Sparks alike while you’re doing it._

I stare at the Book’s cover, dumbfounded. In the square, I can hear the clatter of wood hastily being piled up closer to the stake. In a moment, the Fire Man will summon the same fire I’ve already seen in action at Stone Island. It can’t happen again! Not to someone I’ve once held in my arms, someone I’ve cried with…

“Please… Don’t le me down now…”

The Book sighs.

_I can’t, Molly. My priority is your welfare, do you understand? If you get outside now and find yourself caught… I won’t be able to help you any more._

“Wait!” I suddenly say as a memory comes back to my mind. “You told me you would offer me three gifts.”

_And I didn’t forget_ , the Book retorts. _But any power I might show in using the third and final gift won’t be able to resist the Spark’s influence. Don’t you see it, hanging around that man’s neck?_

I peer outside, at the Fire Man, who is already standing in front of Berenice, now tied to the stake.

“Yes…” I say, my heart ready to burst into flames as vivid as the ones which will soon surround my friend.

_I’m sorry, Molly._

“Father Above, give me the necessary strength to burn this heretic!”

“Nooo!”

A woosh fills the air. Bright flames erupt all around the stake, already greedily devouring the dry wood.

* * *

 

For a moment, I’m standing there, unable to breathe, unable to utter a single syllable.

Staring at the lonely figure, standing still against the stake, who has only moments to live.

I should have been with her. I should have protested, I should have fought them.

I should have died with her.

My fingers are clenched around the Book but it’s not enough.

I’m a coward.

The Book is talking to me, Its pleading voice like soothing music to my ears, but I shake my head. I refuse to be consoled.

That’s when I hear her.

 “Dear Berenice,” she says, her voice ringing loud and clear in the square, “I love you.”

The Fire Man, who has already turned on his heel and seems to examine carefully the crowd gathered around him, jumps as something has stung him.

“I shouldn’t write it to you, I shouldn’t write at all in fact but I’m alone and afraid and I know I’m going to die. I just can’t stay silent anymore.”

Ilse’s letter! She’s reciting Ilse’s letter out loud, defying all those who have assembled there to watch her die, defying even the Fire Man, who’s staring at her, dumbstruck.

“When everything is over, when the lies they are going to tell me about me have spread far and wide, only you will know the truth. I need you to know it. I’m innocent.”

The Fire Man is now gesticulating as if he has been set on fire himself, trying to douse the flames. But there’s no dodging that particular bullet and the men around him are as helpless as himself.

There’s a wall of fire between them and Berenice. She’s untouchable.

The idea that she might have planned this all along, waiting till the fire to spread before opening her mouth, strikes my mind and despite the grief which makes me want to throw myself on the ground, in the hope to be swallowed, I find myself smiling in the dark. Despite her helplessness, Berenice has found a way to mock the power of those who sentenced her to death.

And the best part is that they can’t silence her. They can’t even stop those gathered down below in the square to hear her words.

_Listen! She’s talking to you._

“I wish I had a last opportunity to see you again. To speak to you. I know it’s not going to happen, though, so I leave you with one more duty. Please, if you ever love me, for my sake, find your voice. Tell the truth. The truth about Clara! You have to tell them, Molly!”

She’s screaming now and I can’t help screaming in turn.

I close my eyes as Berenice is dying in the fire, dying uselessly, dying for my sake.

Her words remain branded in my memory.

Tell the truth!

Suddenly, there are footsteps echoing in the stairs as I realise how much noise I’ve made.

Someone is coming! Going upstairs!

Quick, I have to hide, I have to…

“Molly!”

I look up.

A man is standing a few feet from me.

And I know him.


	30. Chapter 30

MOLLY

 

Or, at the very least, I recognize his voice.

The Whisperer.

The words are out before I even think of them.

“What are you doing here?”

I can hear the surprise in my tone. There’s a faint trace of distrust as well. I don’t think he’s here to snatch me away and hand me over to the guards, but I can’t be sure of it.

He takes a step forward, his face now cast in the dim light of the crescent moon smiling down at us. I resist the temptation to wipe off the tears still running down my cheeks. Grief is still pulsing in my heart at the thought of Beatrice’s loss and I can’t help but feeling angry at the Whisperer, who’s intruding on my privacy at that moment. He must feel it, because he swallows hard before saying:

“I’m sorry for…” he waves at the hollow place in the wall, through which I can still see and smell the fire burning in Raegen’s square. I clench my fists, my nails drawing bloody crescents in my palms.

Never again.

I will find the witch and kill her.

Render her useless.

Send her back to the realm of death where she belongs. She will regret surviving all these years, benefiting from the magic she’s stealing from all of us. Allowing petty men to burn anyone not to their liking.

She will regret all of this.

“Molly? Are you all right?”

He seems so sincerely concerned I can’t help but laugh and cry at the same time. The wet sound coming out of my mouth would have rendered me ashamed of myself only a few weeks ago, but I’m so far gone, I can’t even bring myself to care.

“Why are you here?” I repeat, ignoring the flicker of worry in his gaze.

“I was looking for you, _obviously_ ,” he retorts. He raises his hands palms upwards and for a brief instant, I imagine him taking me by my wrists, forcing me to go outside before calling the guards. I take a step backwards instinctively. My face must have betrayed my fear, as he’s staring at me open-mouthed.

“I… I wouldn’t do that to you!” he exclaims. “I’m not looking for you in order to hand you over to the guards!”

“Why, then?”

“Because I’m worried about you!” he hotly replies. “Is that so hard to imagine? How do you think I felt, when the Fire Man’s squad burst into my room last night, shaking me awake and asking me if I know anything about your whereabouts?” He’s agitated, his shaking hand running through his hair. He pauses for an instant, then:

“I spent all day being shut in your father’s office…”

Guilt washes through me at the thought of my parents, being punished for no fault of theirs.

“Are they… all right?” I softly ask.  

The Whisperer shrugs.

“Your mother is crying in her room while your father is pacing up and down at the ground floor, like some enraged beast. He’s barking orders to the servants, as if to prove he still had some authority left. His career’s in tatters but if he’s smart enough… he’ll survive.”

I flinch from his careless tone as well as his brutal assessment.

“You don’t like them very much, do you?”

He starts to laugh, a joyless sound which makes me shiver.

“You can say that. You try living with someone who forces you to obey the slightest order and to stay mute when the only thing you want is…”

He stops. I suddenly feel shamed for the way I’ve treated him all those years, wondering why he was even accepted at our table, while in truth, he has bene a victim just like me.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper.

“What for?” he replies, his dark gaze filled with surprise.

“I wasn’t very… nice to you.”

That’s an euphemism, I think.

“You had no reason to be. Still, seeing you across the table was often the only thing which motivated me to get up in the morning.”

He’s looking at me intently, with a softness across his features I’m not used to. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with such an expression. It makes me dizzy. A bit guilty too – I don’t deserve being given the appreciation I can discern in his gaze, especially not when I’ve done so little to inspire it.

“They said you’re a witch. That you’re dangerous. The servant they burned there…”

“Her name was Berenice,” I instinctively interject. “She was my friend.”

His gaze does not waver, still directed at me.

“She seems to be,” he softly whispers. “I heard what she was saying at the end. “Tell them the truth”. I can help you with that.”

At that instant, I abruptly feel a sense of déjà vu. Or rather something I’ve already heard – but not from his mouth.

The Book hinted at this when we were talking, shortly after I’ve fled my house. I glance down at It, still in my hands. I want to ask It if It has somehow influenced the Whisperer to find me now, at the moment I will need his help the most… but I can’t say it aloud, can I? Instead, I look up at the young man, who’s running the risk of being arrested and worse just in order to offer me his assistance.

“You know what you’re offering me, right now?” I ask.

He nods, determination rising in his gaze.

“You… I mean, you know…”

“Take it, Molly,” he cuts me off gently. “Let me help you. We have but only a little time left and…” he glances at the fire down below, in the middle of the square. “Berenice would have liked it, I think.”

Is it her name in his mouth or the temptation he’s offering on a silver platter, I don’t know but I nod all the same.

“All right. Lead the way, then.”

His smile lights up the whole room.

 

* * *

 

The Whisperer’s office – as he calls it – is ironically located in the basement of a nondescript house, not far from the Chancellor’s own house.

“They thought at first to set it up there; However, they did a few tests beforehand and discovered it caused interferences with the personal communications network of the Chancellor…”

I watch in silence the flickering Sparks floating their way to the golden dome and I know, without any explanation being necessary, that the only interferences that were provoked were with the witch’s magic.

A few steps from the house, the Whisperer stops in his tracks, putting at the same time a hand on my sleeve.

“Wait for me here. There’s a guard watching the only entrance but I know him, I can send him on a short errand, this way you should have the time to slip inside…”

I nod, a bit distracted by the warm imprint his touch, even through the fabric, is leaving on my skin. He squeezes my arm once, hesitating a little bit before going and leaving me here. I shiver.

_If you ever love me, for my sake, tell them the truth._

Berenice’s voice is still ringing in my ears and I have to swallow back my tears. There’s a growing despair, something wild and furious welling up inside; I clutch the Book closer to my chest. In all this darkness, It’s the only light I ever have.

 

* * *

 

The Whisperer’s true to his word.

A few minutes later, I see a guard striding outside, looking very put out. I wait for him to disappear from my sight before running as quickly as I can to the entrance, hidden down a flight of stairs. The Whisperer is waiting for me, urging me with an impatient hand to get inside.

As he closes the door behind me, I take the time to look around. The room I find myself in is not very big, but it looks sparkly clean with immaculate tabletops and comfortable seats. Right next to one, fitted inside the table, there’s a weird installation, with buttons emitting a flickering light and other levers I’ve never seen in my life.

“That’s a console,” the Whisperer explains, his voice making me jump. “Come, take a seat, I’ll show you.”

I silently comply, feeling definitely out of place in this neat environment. It looks so different from what I’m used to and I spare a thought for the factories popping in the harbour area, looking like some great hulking mushrooms. I’ve never been much interested in what is going on inside – now I wonder if the consoles or whatever I have under my eyes are produced there, going through some unknown magic and coming out looking all shiny and weird at the same time?

There’s so much in this world I have yet to discover.

I feel a heavy pang of regret as the Whisperer sits down next to me, starts pushing and raising some buttons while rattling on about how it all functions. I only understand a word out of five and I can’t stop a little gasp as he pushes another button and some black little fixture pops out from the table and raises its bulbous head in my direction.

“Don’t be afraid! It’s a microphone!”

“A what?”

“Look, I will show you…”

He gets up, leans a bit over me – a faint but distinct perfume wafts over me and I sit up instinctively, putting a little distance between him and me. He doesn’t seem to be aware of it, his face alight with interest and joy as he demonstrates how this so-called microphone works.

“… you only have to speak in this and it is immediately broadcasted through the Network!”

Oh. And to think I used to wonder through which unknown magic I could hear the words whispering to me that everything would be all right, that I only have to be calm and to smile…

“I used to fall asleep with your voice in my ear.”

He shoots me an alarmed look while spots of red blooms across his cheekbones.

“I wish I could have said other words than all this rubbish to you,” he says, breaking the heavy silence between us. “I dreamed of it sometimes but… I couldn’t. They kept a close watch over me, especially your father. Telling me what to say, preparing all those little speeches… I learned to hate them.”

“Why did they choose you?”

He barks a single laugh.

“Because of my father. Short story is he was appointed at the had of the foreign office during the last war, made a huge blunder, got punished for it and his whole family with it. I was just… part of the bargain. Your father was tasked with supervising me and he used me to climb the career ladder among the Cabinet members. He liked to boast about it sometimes, telling me how after all his work, he was sure to marry you off well…”

“You hate him, don't you?”

He doesn’t shy away from my question.

“Yes”.

“And you’re doing all this…” I delicately but surely prod.

“For you. For me as well. Because I used all this…” he waves at the room, encompassing it with a single gesture. “… to help you being manipulated further. I nearly lost you.”

I don’t look away when his gaze meets mine. I feel as if a unseen thread is woven through both our hearts, linking us together more closely with every passing moment. His gaze turns scorching, as if he would like nothing more to swallow me up and never let me go. I don’t know if I find this electrifying or horrifying. He finally looks away and raises a few levers. A low-key buzz immediately echoes in the room.

“Tell them,” he whispers to me. “You’ve got half an hour at the most.”

I give a nervous nod. I lean a bit over the microphone and wonder what to say first.

Berenice’s words come back to my mind.

“When everything is over, when the lies they are going to tell about me have spread far and wide, only you will know the truth. I need you to know it. I’m innocent.”

Tell them the truth.

I smile.

And I start speaking.


	31. Chapter 31

THE FIRE MAN

 

He watched over the dwindling fire, feeling empty. At this late hour, only a handful of persons have remained in the square, silently examining the burned stake, as if they were waiting for an explanation of what had happened that night. The Fire Man resisted the temptation to snarl at them, to scream at their faces “What were you expecting? She was a heretic, a mad woman, a spy!”

Only one of those things was true, but no one besides him had to know.

“I should have broken you first,” he whispered to the ashes.

It had been a grievous mistake – to believe the woman had been too frightened to resist, too afraid of the fire and the pain and could only die quietly.

Her words were still ringing in his mind.

_Tell them the truth!_

The fact she was calling to Molly O’Hare, to this girl they haven’t yet found only added salt to the injury.

His squad and a good part of the guards were searching through the whole city, examining back alleys and shadowy corners. So far, to no avail.

She had been here, he could feel it. And yet he hadn’t been able to spot her.

Where had she been?

How could she remain still while her friend was burning?

Still, his own show of power that he had set up as an attempt to strike fear into her heart had backfired.

_Tell them the truth!_

“A pack of lies rather!” he snarled under his breath before turning away.

He grasped the Spark hung around his neck.

_Tell me where it is. Please._

But the Spark was still hesitating, he could feel it. Might it be because the Book was not performing any magic trick? Or for another reason?

The idea that he was somehow manipulated by the witch through her gift to him popped into his mind. The mere suggestion, whispered in his ear, that, for all his power, he was only a tool in her eyes, was turning into a certainty, no matter how strongly he rejected it.

He had to find her.

_Tell them the truth!_

He stopped in his tracks.

Could it be… ?

He swore under his breath before calling one member of his squad.

“Alan!”

The reply came at once.

“Go to the Cunninghams’ house. Check that this boy, the one they called the Whisperer… You know who he is?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Check that he’s still here.”

The man nodded before striding away.

The Fire Man watched him go, a chill running down his spine.

Somehow, he could feel it despite the Spark’s silent reply to his musings. Somehow, it all came to a stop tonight.


	32. Chapter 32

MOLLY

 

I speak.

Telling everyone who could hear my through the ear pods – a very large majority of women and children – what really happened to Clara. Was she had been through her health condition, something that the Curse put on her couldn’t relieve. Something which caused her to look to other solutions. How she joined forces with Willis and Ilse, how they became involved in this quest, which became much larger than them. How they managed to make the herbs come to them, only for it to be snatched away at the last moment.

How they were innocent.

How two of them were killed and the third, severely abused because of it.

“I saved him. I know you’re not going to believe me, I know you will say it’s impossible because I’m a girl, only a girl and what do I know about these things, anyway? But you don’t know that I’m not alone. I’ve never been alone. I have the Book with me.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I see the Whisperer, who is checking the time thanks to his clock, startle a bit and glance at the volume which appears in my hands.

I speak of the witch, of her thirst for power, of the daughter who rebelled against her authority and lost her life for it. I speak of the curse, the sole means she had found in order to survive.

“She manipulates all of us. Women, whether they belong to the gentry or to the populace, whether they are ladies or workers in the factories or servants in the hidden corridors, even those working in the Red District… We’re all cursed.”

I hear a spluttering by my side and I wonder if it’s caused because I talked about the Red District or the Curse.

I speak and speak and it’s only when the Whisperer starts frowning at me that I know my time has come to an end.

“I’m Molly O’Hare. They will call me witch, bruja and other things. They will say I’m a liar, I’m crazy, I’m dangerous. I’m only dangerous because I told you the truth. Remember it, only for my sake. Please.”

I stop.

It’s over.

I’m done.

I don’t know if it’s enough, but it’s a first step of many.

And I don’t know either if I’ll be here to see it all happen, but at this moment, I feel proud. I’m only a small link in a whole chain of brave individuals – but what I’ve done now will count somehow.

The Whisperer stops the broadcasting.

A silence falls between us. And suddenly, I don’t want any more words. Now that I’ve finally emptied my bags. What I want is… to feel alive.

One last time.

As alive as when I ran through the island, when I was a man.

I turn to the Whisperer.

“What’s your name?”

Oddly enough, I don’t know it.

“Erik. Molly, I…”

“Shhh…” I whisper as I put a finger on his mouth.

He stills, watches me wide-eyed as I get up and make my way to him.

“Tell me, Erik. Can I kiss you?”

His lips open in a “Oh”. Hunger gleams in his eyes but is swiftly replaced with regret and fear.

“Molly, you don’t know what you’re asking…”

“Stop making assumptions. Answer me just with ‘yes’ or ‘no’. That’s all. Our time together has come to an end and we haven’t got the luxury to rack our brains.”

I take a step forward. My knees are brushing his through the fabric of the trousers.

“So, tell me – do you want me to kiss you?”

This time, he doesn’t waste a second.

“Yes. Please.”

* * *

 

I smile. My fingers stroke his cheek, his chin. His neck. He’s looking at me as if he’s never seen someone like me before. For an instant, the thought that I should have realised his feelings for me much earlier strikes me, but I chase it away.

No regrets.

I lean in, taking my time.

He doesn’t move. Lets me come closer to him, until our breaths mingle, and our lips are ready to touch. We’re both trembling. Our eyes meet. We share a small smile. And then, at last, we kiss each other.

It’s awkward.

It’s tender.

It’s soft.

It’s… everything I’ve ever dreamed of and more. I don’t know how to explain.

And then I stop trying to find a reason and I just feel.

His warmth.

His gentleness.

He’s trembling against me, as we break away only to kiss again and again. I lost the count of time. My hand finds his shoulder, I run the other through his hair. He’s moaning. At one moment, his lips part and I discover the delight of open-mouthed kisses.

His tongue against mine.

Stroking gently, delicately my mouth.

“Molly…”

“Shhh.”

I don’t want to talk.

I want to feel more. More of him, more of the heat blooming between my legs and in my whole body.

I break away.

Oh, he’s a sight! Panting for breath, lips reddened by our kisses, blown pupils and down below… I raise my eyebrows while a smile tugs at my lips. So that’s why Miss Laurel was talking about when she mentioned “men will know what to do at that time”. As if we couldn’t decide by ourselves. I lower my hand but right before I touch it, he grasps my wrist.

“Don’t!”

“Don’t you want me to touch it?”

He snorts – a half-strangled sound which perfectly reflects his dilemma.

“Yes, but…”

“It’s solved, then.”

I gently get my hand free and this time, I reach my target. I enjoy feeling it already hard and hot under my fingers as I enjoy the rumble in Erik’s chest. He’s straining not to move, I guess, and I reward him by stroking it, a bit awkwardly. It makes no difference apparently, since I feel it growing and hardening in my hand.

“Molly…” he moans before whimpering when I draw back a little.

“I want to see it. Take your clothes off.”

He’s hesitating before getting up from his seat.

“And… you?” he asks, biting his lip.

I pretend to think about it.

“Well, it’s only fair.”

His laugh is a brilliant sound an I join him, stealing another kiss as I start unbuttoning my shirt.

Unfastening my trousers.

Taking off my smallclothes.

It feels surreal. But I’m not afraid – not anymore.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers to me, his gaze devouring me.

I kiss him. Kiss him again. His warmth is calling to me, I let my hands stroke his back, his neck, his hips. I moan and bite him gently as his clever fingers find my nipples, my belly. My sex.

“Sit on me,” he says before sitting once again in the chair and stroking my hip.

I scramble over him. We bump into each other, we smile and laugh, we kiss. It’s joyful. It’s hot. Pure happiness is welling up inside as I stroke his hard penis, red and leaking.

I want it. We both want it. Instinctively, I know what to do.

As I take it inside, I think of all the women, all the girls who are denied the pleasure of having sex as they want simply because a witch decided so.

Not anymore, I think before biting down my lip and willing the pain to pass.

“Wait, wait… Take it easy… Molly…”   

The way he says my name is a prayer in itself.

I kiss it on his lips.

Pain is waning. Finally.

We fall into an instinctive rhythm, up and down, up and down. It’s nice, it’s good, it brings us pleasure. Seeing his face as he finally lets go and pumps his hips feels like a privilege. I, Molly O’Hare, did it. Somehow, I feel even more proud for achieving it. And when it’s my turn, I let myself fall in his arms, his head nestled in my shoulder, my skin peppered with his “I love you”.

* * *

 

We remain like this a little longer before parting in silence and getting dressed again. I slip the Book against my feverish skin, tied up with the belt.

“Molly, I…”

A shout echoes outside.

The door leading to our studio bangs against the wall. We both remain frozen on the spot. Erik takes my hand, pulling me by his side.

“Come!”

He pushes open another door, leading to a corridor. On the other side, an employee looks at us, open-mouthed.

“Run, Molly, run!”

I do my best to follow him through the maze of this basement.

Behind me, I hear shouts and warnings.

“Catch them! Don’t let them go!”

We have to get outside.


	33. Chapter 33

MOLLY

 

“That way!”

We’re running at full speed, breezing past dumbfounded-looking employees, narrowly avoiding to bump into them. Which is quite fortunate, since some of them have obviously heard the cries of our pursuers and are trying to stop us.

But Erik obviously knows where he’s going and soon, we find ourselves in front of a flight of stairs leading up to a door. He opens it first, letting it bang against the wall behind, and pulls me with him outside, his hand never leaving mine.

Fresh air greets us welcome. We turn up in a narrow alley. On one side, the view seems familiar to me and I realize that, in our mad dash in the basement, we have come closer to the Bryant Wharf, where I met Stuart last night.

Gosh, it already seems like an eternity…

Erik turns to me, a smile on his lips.

“We’ve done it!”

His joy is catching and despite my heart still thundering in my chest, I start relaxing it a bit.

“Now, where to…?”

I hear a swift sound coming from behind us.

Erik lets out a strangled gasp. His whole body jerks up, as if he was a puppet and someone was pulling the strings.

His name comes out of my lips in a horrified tone.

He turns his head in my direction, eyes wide open in a terrified expression which leaves me nauseous.

An arrow has been driven straight into his chest.

Blood starts foaming at his mouth.

“Stop! You’re under arrest!”

A second arrow comes whistling at my ears.

I scream.

_Run, Molly, run!_

There’s only one choice – once again, I take the easy way out, leaving behind anyone who has helped and loved me once. Tears are clouding my vision. I hear voices sharply barking orders behind me and dogs whining their excitement.

I can’t stay here and I won’t be able to run for long, my legs are trembling after all this exertion.

_Find a boat._

I press my hand against the Book.

They won’t have it, they won’t!

My feet are skidding on the wet cobblestones – the sun is barely setting and on the Bryant Wharf, by chance, some fishermen are already gathering, preparing their nets. A few of them raise their head when they hear me running to them. Alarm spreads across their features as they distinguish after a moment the guards chasing after me.

“Take her alive, you fools!”

That voice.

I know him.

The Fire Man has found me.

A part of me dearly wants to stop, to turn around and to fight him with all I have.

_Not now, Molly. Not now. If you truly want this, you have to leave this island and go to the only place where I can help you._

“Where?” I reply, gasping for breath, as I look around, desperately searching for a small boat I could manoeuvre.

Stone Island.

The Book has barely replied that I curse myself for not having figured it out sooner. Stone Island, where the witch’s daughter has died, where the Book has been created and nearly caught out till I intervened.

Stone Island, where Ilse has died.

Thirst for revenge is howling inside me.

“Let’s go!”

I jump from the wharf into the nearest boatcraft I find. The shock leaves me breathless, a dull pain is blooming in my ankle.

“Hey, you! Get out of here, you have no…”

I sit up, my eyesight a bit whoozy but still able to discern the man who is doing his best to untie the rope currently mooring the boat. If he does, he will tug the boat closer to the wharf and I will never be able to leave this island.

With a strength born from my own desperation, I seize the rope and give it a sharp tug.

“Ow!”

The fisherman wasn’t expecting it and the rope slips between his fingers, falling into the water. Quick, now, I have to row away before they catch me! I look around frenetically, only to find out there are no oars. The fisherman must take them with him once he’s leaving his boat, it seems so logical, why didn’t I think of it before and now I’m doomed, I’m…

The boat suddenly jerks under my feet, as if tugged away by some unseen force.

“What the…?”

_Look up._

I do that, ignoring the shouts and screams rousing awake the whole wharf.

“She’s within shooting range…”

“No! I forbid you to shoot her! She has to be taken alive!”

Look in the direction of Stone Island.

That’s when I see it – a shiny flow coming straight from this place to Cohn’s Island, a sparkly bridge full of magic. And the boat seems to follow this yet secret road, going against the tide, dancing on the waves and taking speed.

I watch it wide-eyed, unable to believe I have been saved.

Once again.

My pursuers’ cries of frustration are fading into the distance, looking like pathetic little puppets gesticulating to no avail.

“What’s happening?” I whisper.

_The Sparks you see are being drawn from the bones of the witch’s daughter. She still has so much power after all this time…_

“Oh. And you can use them to spirit us away?”

_Yes. My magic and hers are still attuned to each other. I wouldn’t have done this before, betraying my power in such a way, but it doesn’t really matter anymore, now._

I turn my gaze back to Cohn Island, still engulfed in darkness.

No doubt the chase is far from being over.

The salty breeze makes me shiver.

“No. It doesn’t,” I whisper in the dark of the night.

* * *

 

 I stumble over treacherous pebbles as I slowly make my way to the rocky beach. Icy water is up to my ankles – a stark contrast to the gluey, tepid substance slowly trickling down the inside of my thighs. Barely an hour earlier, I was in Erik’s arms, I was feeling warm and safe and loved. Now, I’m cold, I’m hunted down by the Fire Man. I look around the silent island, which is the last destination for Republic’s men once they passed away. No anonymous bodies thrown into the sea for them, but a proper burial and a nicely carved stone.

Somehow, I doubt Erik would have that chance.

I clench my teeth and I carry on.

I don’t have any other choice.

 

* * *

 

Sand is giving away under my feet, rocks are hurting my soles as I slowly walk to the cemetery’s entrance, under which the witch’s daughter had been buried so long ago. I carry the Book in my hands, stroking absentmindedly the worn cover.

I can’t believe it’s nearly over.

Tears of grief as well as of tiredness are springing to my eyes.

The wind picks up, blowing from behind, an unseen hand hastening my step. Soon, the cemetery’s gates are rising in front of me and as I take a step on the smooth, worn surface of the square, where an eternity ago, I set eyes on Ilse for the first time, I wonder how so much has changed in so little time.

“Book?” I whisper.

_Yes, Molly?_

“You will stay with me, won’t you?”

I know It has promised over and over again, but I need to talk to someone.

_I swear I’ll remain with you till the end._

I nod. Step by step, I come closer to the place where, according to the Book, the witch’s daughter had been buried. It must tell the truth since the Sparks are swarming over my head, taking flight gracefully and easily. Now that I’m able to discern them, even in the dark, I can spot where they come from – literally digging their way out of the rocky earth under my feet, crawling over the surface like wingless fireflies before being inexorably drawn away from the island and pulled directly into the witch’s hands in her golden dome.

Between her and me, the Fire Man.

I sit down, trying to find a place as comfortable as possible.

Somehow, I don’t think I’ll have to wait for long.

The Sparks alert me first – their peaceful, hypnotic rhythm is suddenly troubled, an ill wind that I can’t feel on my skin blowing them down, scattering them away like flowers being brutally torn out from their stems.

_He’s here, Molly_ , the Book says.

I clutch it against my chest.

I want to cry.

I want to flee.

But most of all, I want to kill him.

“I love you,” I whisper under my breath.

I never said it before, I realise. Not even to the first boy who made love to me.

_I love you too, Molly. I won’t fail you._

“I know.”

A flame suddenly springs to life, rising high in the air and coming quickly closer with every passing minute. When I hear the regular footsteps on the cobblestones of the square, I know my enemy is here.

 

* * *

 

He launches the first attack without any preamble, a ring of fire rising to life, surrounding the square and cutting me off from any possible way out. The heat is almost unbearable, but I refuse to move. I’m standing directly above the grave of the witch’s daughter. If there’s any place where power might linger and which I might use, it’s here. The man is tall and thin. His gaze, sharp as flint, is set on me. He’s examining me from across the place and I do my best not to flinch. He cut an impressive figure with his black robes, standing out against the flames. He stretches out an arm in my direction.

“Give me the Book.”

And suddenly, any weight I might feel on my shoulders and on my tongue, rendering me speechless and without reaction, disappears. I start to laugh, gently at first, more strongly then.

Laughing in his face, laughing at him because did he really think it would be so easy? That he just has to stand and ask me for the Book in order to get it?

Joy as sharp as a thorn fizzles through my veins.

“No.”

He’s clenching his jaw, trying to smother his rising anger – for a man, who has always been used to see his merest wishes fulfilled right away, my attitude has certainly struck a nerve.

“You’re making a big mistake. You’re alone, you don’t have any weapon…”

“Wrong,” I interrupt him.

I brandish the Book right above my head.

“That’s the only weapon I need. The only weapon I _want_. Without It, I would still be in the dark, enslaved like any other woman on this thrice-damned island, with your witch happily tapping my power…”

“Don’t you dare speaking of her!”

“I’ll talk as I like, Fire Man. I’m not afraid of you.”

The words have barely left my lips that he raises his hands to the sky. Next second, a ball of flame rises from between his palms, slowly revolving in the air before zooming in my direction.

I can’t do anything other than to watch it hurling itself at me.

It’s too quick, too powerful.

I can’t dodge it.

I lower my hands, still clutching the Book, thinking that is it, that’s how I die, and that’s so unfair, because I haven’t had any opportunity to kill the witch and…

Pop.

A mere instant before colliding with me, the fiery missile suddenly explodes into a thousand Sparks, uselessly landing on earth.

I gasp. The Fire Man screams his frustration.

And then I hear someone laugh.

It’s the Book – but I’ve never heard such a sound coming out of Its throat.

It’s laughing and laughing, and soon it seems that dozens, hundreds of voices are joining It.

Considering the startled expression of the Fire Man cast in the flickering light of the flames, he’s hearing them too. But after a moment, his face hardens. He briefly rummages in his pockets before pulling something out of one of them. He throws away something on the ground and then I can see what he’s holding in his hand.

A knife, whose bare blade is reflecting the glow of the fire.

I start to tremble.

“It’s not how I wanted to do it, but since you leave me no other choice…”

He takes a step forward. Two. Three.

I feel the earth under my feet shaking.

The wind is picking up, blowing dust in the face of the Fire Man, not that it deters him from walking closer to me.

I remain still.

Something – someone? – is telling me to stay here, not to move away.

Taking literally root in this deserted, forlorn place.

And I trust it.

I trust it with my life, my heart desperately thundering in my chest, my whole body shivering.

The Fire Man is nearly on me, already raising his hand, still holding the knife, when I see it.

Or rather her.

She appears right in front of me, putting herself between me and the Fire Man. Dust taking the shape of a woman – young, small and curvy, not unlike me. Black is her hair, dark is her gaze as she once turns to me, addressing me a small smile before facing our enemy.

“You won’t touch her”.

Her voice is as loud as the wing whistling in my ears and as deep as the sea.

The Fire Man stops in his tracks, surprise washing over his features.

“You are going to walk away. You will never come back here.”

His gaze flickers between her and me, hesitation appearing for the first time in his eyes.

“I…”

“Go away,” the ghost repeats. “Go back to your master. She can’t protect you here.”

“You’re lying!” he screams.

“You’re just a mere tool to her. Nothing more. She only has to snap her fingers and she will have thousand other Fire Men, just like you, to order.”

His face contorts into a horrifying grimace.

“No!” he repeats like some stubborn child. “I’m not the one here fooled by liars like you!”

“She has chosen her way.” The ghost turns to me. “Haven’t you, Molly?”

I don’t even wonder how she knows my name. I nod.

“Go away.”

He shakes his head.

“I can’t. I have to destroy it.”

And before I can react, I see him jumping forward, the tip of the blade targeting the Book still in my hands. I react instinctively – I drop the Book and I hurl myself forward, hands outstretched.

At the same time, out of the corner of my eye, I see something white and sharp appearing in the hand of the ghost. She drives it straight into the Fire Man’s chest. His gaze widens, he screams with pain. His momentum is lost, he stumbles on the floor before dropping on all fours, his breath raspy in his chest.

_Molly! Molly!_

I find myself on my knees.

Something hot trickling down my skin.

That’s weird.

I don’t feel any pain, though, so it can’t be serious?

I quickly change my mind when I raise my hand and see it streaked with red.

I’m bleeding.

The knife.

“Oh child… What have you done?”

I want to answer her, to reassure her and the Book somehow, everything’s fine, I’m just hurt but it’s going to be better and…

Red is clouding my vision.

I fell myself falling. Ice cold hands catch me, hold me tenderly, like a mother’s embrace.

“Stay with me a little longer, Molly. Stay with me.”

The Book, where is the Book?

The ghost takes it into her hands, puts it into mine.

I try to smile, but it starts to hurt. It hurts so much suddenly, pain blazing through my whole body.

I’m crying, letting out pitiful whimpers.

The ghost is watching me with liquid eyes, all the sorrow of the world in her gaze.

“You were so brave…”

She doesn’t pay any notice to the Fire Man, who is lying down, motionless, a little farther.

“He’s dead.”

Oh.

I feel a brief relief, immediately replaced by a growing anger – the witch is still alive, she’s still hurting people. And I can’t kill her now, I can’t even stand on my two legs…

“I’m sorry, Molly.”

I’m going to die, I see it in the expression washing over her face.

I don’t want to.

Not till the witch is truly dead.

It can’t end like this!

A flicker of hope is gleaming in her dark gaze. She leans over me, her hair a blanck curtain between me and the world.

“There’s still a way if you want to”, she whispers.

Yes.

Yes.

Please.

A sad smile creases her lips. She presses her lips on my forehead.

I can’t even feel the Book in my hands.

Everything’s slipping away.

Please, I beg with all the strength which still lingers in my broken body. Please.

“All right. So be it.”

She leans still further over me, as if she wanted to kiss me, till her dark gaze is the only thing I can see.

Darkness engulfs me.


	34. Chapter 34

THE BOOK

 

I’ve never had the opportunity to take such a shape before.

A human body.

What an extraordinary thing.

I’ve met so many humans during my whole life; I’ve listened patiently as they poured out their feelings on my blank pages, unaware – at least at first – that they were confiding in me. I’ve discovered their secrets, looked deep into their hearts, marvelled at how _much_ they could feel and despaired for them as they didn’t seem able to perceive how much power they had in their own hands.

I never thought this day was coming – the very moment where a human being let me join them body, heart and soul. Allowed my magic to merge into theirs. Gave me free rein to steer them into the final share of this bloody journey.

That’s exactly what Molly did.

I hear her last whispers, her last heartbeats, that heart which revealed to be filled with so much courage and bravery. Her blood is leaking, drop by drop, out of the corner of her blood. The mortal wound she endured just above her collarbone, in the tender flesh of her neck, is already drying, oozing nothing more than a slight trickle.

She’s dying.

Dying because of me.

Dying because what I’ve told her, what I’ve nudged her to do.

What she has come to accept as the only truth she could live with.

It’s never easier, that part.

Never easier to see humans you’ve met, you’ve grown to like, even to love in some cases, disappear so brutally. So suddenly. Their bodies which looked so strong, so resilient, discarded like rubbish.

I’ve cried for so many of them.

Keeping their stories, hoarding them like so many jewels close to my heart of paper and ink.

But now… Everything turns out differently.

“Come with me,” Molly whispers in a last effort. “Don’t leave me alone.”

Always. Till the end.

And the end is yet to come.

* * *

 

We’re walking on two legs which didn’t belong to us earlier, inhabiting a body which is so foreign and so familiar at the same time. Every cell, every hair, every remaining drop of blood is infused with our magic. Sustaining it, supporting it, operating it like some great vessel of war as we go marching into battle.

We’ve left behind the body of the Fire Man and the ghost of the woman who created me a long time ago. She watched us go past her with a sad pride in her eyes.

She knew what we are going to do and a small part of her still living heart is breaking at this idea.

It doesn’t matter.

It should be done.

For all of us.

 

* * *

 

The sea is whispering to us one last time, delivering secrets and rumours from all over a wide world we’ve never had the chance of exploring. The Sparks which helped us so dutifully going to Stone Island let us come back to Cohn Island, fuelling our small vessel. We don’t feel afraid as we set a foot on the cobblestones of Bryant Wharf. We don’t feel afraid as the passer-by watch us with wide eyes, whispering to each other. We don’t even feel afraid as a troop of guards – maybe the same ones who chased us earlier that night – come rushing at us, already reaching out as if we were mere flesh for us to get their hands on.

“She’s here!”

“In the name of the Chancellor, we…”

We laugh at them. At the same time, our magic strikes hard the leader straight in the chest. In the exact same place Erik was mortally wound a few hours ago.

The man gasps. Trembles. Before falling on his back. He lays still on the floor. H won’t get up again.

“Let us pass,” we say and our voice can be heard from everyone, who’s standing staring at us, fear blooming in their expressions.

The rest of the troop does not know what to do.

“Let us go. Otherwise…”

The implicit threat is working.

I know what they see – a young woman, apparently defenceless and yet so powerful, powerful enough to murder a man in cold blood, not even laying a finger on him.

We resume our journey. We know exactly what we’re looking for.

And we’re out to get it.

 

* * *

 

Along the way, we hear rumours.

Hushed whispers.

“What was that, last night?”

“The Network…”

“The Network is broken!”

“Spies of the Empire…”

“What she said about Clara…”

“Lies, all lies!”

“And yet…”

We smile.

Molly, you did this. You planted the first seeds. Let us hope that others will take up where you left off and allow the flowers of justice to bloom.

 

* * *

 

The guard posted at the entrance of the Chancellor’s home does not stand a chance.

Nor do the others who stood in my way.

Wooden soldiers, little souls so easily snuffed out.

We only use a small portion of my magic, all the magic which has been lent to us over the years, all those words written inside, all these feelings leaving their dark trace on my soul.

Not realising how much power they conferred to me in doing so.

We fling them so easily to the ground, tossing them like puppets whose strings have been cut. We feel joy, wild and swift, as we go upstairs to the Chancellor’s office.

* * *

 

He’s alone, sitting behind his desk.

He doesn’t even look up as we walk inside, closing the door behind us.

We examine him in a quick glance – the man is a wreck.

A desperate wreck, being devoured from the inside by what he has done, what he was forced to do. It eats away at him, slowly, luxuriously, and he can’t stand it any longer.

“You murdered her, didn’t you?”

He lets out a pitiful whimper, fat tears running across his lined, sallow skin.

“She… She told me to do it! She… ordered me. Clara…”

He shook his head, finally raising his head. His eyes widen as he sees us looking back at him.

“Who… Who are you?”

“You killed your only daughter,” we go on, ignoring his question. “She came to you, asking for help, explaining why she needed this herb, pleading her cause and for the life of others. She trusted you, but you couldn’t listen to her, you couldn’t let her go away with this. She had to be punished.”

“No, no, you don’t understand! It was the witch…”

The laugh which breaks out of our throat is grim.

“How convenient for you to always have someone else to take the blame for what you’ve done. ‘It’s not me, it’s her!’. As if you didn’t take this decision on your own…”

The ghost of what he once had been rises his ugly head one last time.

“How dare you talk to me like this!” He raises his paw, lets it slam against the wooden desk in a meaty thump. “Guards! Guards!”

“It’s useless,” we whisper. “Nobody will come.”

We take a step forward.

“We didn’t come to you with empty hands. We have a gift for you.”

He’s now staring at us with a puzzled expression, as we pull something which has been given to us for safekeeping all these weeks ago.

“Do you remember this?” we ask, putting the small flask on his desk.

His face turns ashen. Of course, he remembers it.

“That’s what your daughter had been given during all these years for the pain she had to endure every month. Useless pills.”

We flip the flask off with a single finger, overturning it on the desk. The little grey pills scatter all over its surface.

“Why don’t you take a taste of your own medicine, then?”

He’s still staring at us as we turn on our heel.

Does he know that a high dose of these pills can be lethal?

We smile.

* * *

 

Higher and higher, one step at a time.

Sparks are leading us upstairs, whispering in our ears, taunting us with the magic each of them contains.

We don’t even knock on the door as we reach it. We simply push it open.

We find inside a single room, bathed in the dome’s golden light. The Sparks are everywhere, flowing from every brick, every stone, casting their brief light in the witch’s room before being inexorably eaten, devoured whole by her greedy figure.

She’s sitting in a high-backed chair.

She looks like a middle-aged, well-dressed woman, but her gaze betrays her real nature.

“Molly O’Hare,” she says, breaking the silence. “What a surprise to see you here.”

She’s lying of course. She knew exactly where we were bound to as soon as we set foot on Cohn Island. However, she doesn’t seem to see through the flesh-and-bone façade we still offer to her eyes.

She still thinks we’re human.

What a mistake.

“How nice of you to have paid me a visit,” she genially goes on, as if she has been asked us for tea. “Sit down and let us have a chat, then!”

“No.”

She raises an eyebrow.

“No?” she slowly repeats, that single syllable lying above us like a bare blade, ready to cut us in two. “It may have escaped your attention, girl, but you’re in my territory now. You’re in my power.”

“We don’t think so.”

“We?” she repeats and for the first time, a glint of unease enters her gaze.

“We,” we stress out that word. “You know why we’ve come here. Not to have a chat and to fall into the oh so clever trap you’ve certainly devised as you lie here waiting for us; We’ve come to kill you.”

She laughs.

Joyless sound betraying her confidence.

“Your time has come to an end. Too much magic being stolen, too many lives being cast away, all the power which doesn’t belong to you…”

“Don’t you realise that without me, the Republic would have fallen apart a long time ago?” she says, all trace of mirth disappeared from her smooth features now. “I have put things into order, I have invented laws, I saved this people! Without me, there would be nothing, you understand?”

“That’s not for you to decide any more.”

“You won’t destroy my work, girl. Don’t fool yourself – you’re not strong enough. I don’t know what this damned Book promised you but…”

We laugh. And laugh.

And the Sparks stop drifting over our head, the witch stops talking, the people outside stop what they were doing.

It’s the sound of freedom.

It’s the sound of revenge.

It’s the sound which has been promised to their ancestors so long ago and never come to life.

“It’s over.”

And with these words, we finally let our magic loose.

A wave born from fury, from grief, from the tears of the women, men, children imprisoned, tortured, killed; a wave born from the joy they were hoping for, the moments of happiness they’ve lived before it was all snatched away from their hands; a wave born from their hope, their terrible hope, their thirst for a better future, a fairer world; a wave born from their tears, their blood as they lay dying, bodies discarded afterwards into the sea.

And it’s so powerful, so tremendous, it’s a power which can’t be contained any longer.

It explodes all over the place, breaking the golden dome into a thousand shards.

Breaking the glass of windows, shattering the stones of imposing manors and mansions, cracking bricks open.

It’s a wave such as this world had never known before and will not know again.

It’s the voice of the voiceless, the beating heart of the dead, the cries which were never heard.

It’s our power.

All around us, we hear people screaming and begging, crying for help.

Priests kneel before the altar of the Father Above, their lips mumbling useless prayers.

Stonewall’s prisoners open frightened eyes as the doors of the cells bang open, as the walls of the old fortress crumble into the sea.

The witch curses us, begs us.

“Have pity!”

We know none.

And so it ends.

* * *

 

I lay open on the floor.

I’m a book once more.

Around me the floor is littered with rubbish – glass, bricks, bits of stone. The witch lays motionless, sprawled in her seat.

It’s over. Definitely over.

I finally did what I’ve been created for.

Magic is free and wild, once more.

On Stone Island, the ghost of my creator crumbles into dust, finally at peace.

And I’m just a book.

Keeping all those stories and finally letting them appear, black on white.

Molly’s, Clara’s… Everyone who once confided in me. They’re all here.

Waiting for anyone to discover their memories and to be inspired by them.

I smile and let the last remnants of my magic disappear into the air.

After all, I’m just a book.


End file.
